


Uneasy Lies the Head

by FannyT



Series: The Hunger Games Fusion Verse [1]
Category: Disney Animated Fandoms, Frozen (2013), How to Train Your Dragon (2010), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: 61st Hunger Games, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannyT/pseuds/FannyT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“And then, of course, no one can ever forget our most recent Seven victor. From the 57th annual Hunger Games, our very own Snow Queen: Elsa Arendelle!”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>At seventeen years old, Elsa Arendelle volunteered to save her younger sister Anna from the Hunger Games. Now, as Anna turns eighteen and her last Reaping year approaches, Elsa has been a victor and a mentor for four years. She has kept her sister safe, protecting her from all the Capitol’s cruel games. </p><p>Then, as Elsa sees her greatest fear finally dissipating, Anna is Reaped for the second time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my little sister -- originally a short idea to amuse her at work, it kind of grew once I started writing it. 
> 
> General Hunger Games warnings for this one: canon-type violence and character death.

_Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown._  
\- William Shakespeare (Henry IV)

* * *

Every Capitol telescreen was on. No one was changing the channel now—not when the greatest entertainment event of the year was finally starting. Fauntleroy and Plinius, this year’s commentators, were smiling and winking at the camera, their matching gold and silver lipstick glittering in the spotlights. They had been reporting for hours already, but were still looking fresh as daisies, something the fluted glasses holding vivid purple liquid might go some way towards explaining. The downside of the high wouldn’t hit them until many hours later, but by that time the telescreens would be on replays anyway. 

“We go next to District Seven’s Reaping,” Fauntleroy said, wiping his lips carefully on a red silk handkerchief. “And before the Reaping starts in earnest, let’s remind ourselves of what this district can do. We’ve had two Seven victories in the past ten years, not too bad of a track record! First, of course, there was Kristoff Svensson, who made it through his Games almost on strength alone.”

“You could definitely say that all that lumber work paid off!” Plinius interjected, winking roguishly. “Those arms—am I right, ladies and gentlemen?”

“And then, of course, no one can ever forget our most recent Seven victor,” Fauntleroy went on. “From the 57th annual Hunger Games, our very own _Snow Queen_ : Elsa Arendelle!”

“It’s a wonderful story,” Plinius said, nodding sagely. “When she volunteered for her sister like that—oh, I cried.”

“It was very emotional,” Fauntleroy agreed. “Her sister was fourteen or so when she was Reaped, I believe.” 

“And Elsa just stepped forward to take her place, without any hesitation.”

“Now if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is,” Fauntleroy said, and he and Plinius smiled in unison at the camera, teeth gleaming unnaturally white among the silver and gold. 

“Yes, District Seven has definitely proven that it is a district to watch out for,” Plinius finished off the spiel. “Now, let’s see what they have in store for us this year…”

* * *

Anna Arendelle turned slowly in front of the mirror. 

“Does it look OK?” she asked anxiously. 

Elsa didn't even look up. “It doesn't matter, Anna. You'll be fine.”

“It does matter!” Anna protested. “It’s the Reaping, there’ll be cameras everywhere. And what I do reflects on you. I don't want to be the reason you're in trouble in the Capitol.”

Elsa breathed in deeply, her back to Anna. There was no way she could know. Elsa had never told her anything about life in the Capitol, about mentoring and all that came with it. That was the way she wanted it. If she didn't tell Anna, none of that world ever had to exist, once she got back home to District Seven after a Capitol tour. 

She tugged at her gloves, making sure they covered her arm to the elbow, then turned and looked at her sister, beautiful in her Reaping Day dress. 

“You look wonderful, Anna,” she said. 

Anna smiled, but it was crackling around the edges. “Last Reaping,” she said. 

“The very last,” Elsa agreed. She wasn't petty enough to add _for you_. The Reapings would never end for Elsa. Every year there would be new tributes to train and guide and attempt to keep alive. It was a nightmare with a respite, but not with an end. 

Then again, after this year, at least she'd never have to stand with her heart in her throat, praying not to hear the name Anna Arendelle called. 

Once had been bad enough. 

There was a knock at the door, and Kristoff peered in at them. When she had won her Games and been awarded a house in the Victor's Village, Elsa hadn't hesitated before asking for the one next to Kristoff's. Without his support as her mentor, she didn't know if she would have made it through, although in his typical way, he always insisted that he hadn't done anything. She hadn't managed yet to make him understand that all she had needed, in the end, was the knowledge that there was someone in that dreadful place who was on her side. 

“The mayor wants us to assemble,” he said now. “Are you ready, Elsa?” 

“Ready,” she told him. “Anna, I'll see you after the Reaping.”

“See you later,” Anna said, her voice flippant although her expression still spoke of anxiety. “Bye, Kristoff.”

“Bye,” Kristoff said, looking the other way. Then again, it was rare for Kristoff to look anyone directly in the face. He had come back from his Games an even quieter young man than he’d gone in, and nowadays he only ever really came alive in the presence of his pet reindeer Sven, stabled next to his Victor’s Villa. 

He talked to the Arendelles though, sometimes. On occasion, when memories overwhelmed them, he and Elsa would still seek out each other, talking in broken sentences of a time best suppressed, but never entirely forgotten. And they’d also run into each other outside of their respective houses, and stop and make small talk almost as if they were normal people. Sometimes he’d even come to dinner at the Arendelle villa, and would sit through an evening of Anna’s bright chatter with, if not active participation, then at least a sort of quiet enjoyment. 

Elsa saw him now looking at Anna when she was turned another way, and she smiled to herself. 

“Shall we go, then?” she asked.

* * *

Belle sat in the plush seat of the Capitol train, breathing slowly. She and Michael, the boy who had been Reaped with her, had sat through their new mentors’ fractured explanations of what was in store for them once they arrived at the Capitol—the woman, Wiress, Belle had diagnosed as suffering from a severe case of PTSD, while the man just seemed nervous and uncomfortable—after which Michael had rushed off to his room in an attempt to hide his tears. The mentors had left quickly after that, leaving Belle to pick up her jumble of thoughts by herself. 

She pushed her hair back from her forehead, willing her hands to stop shaking, then looked at the large telescreen in front of her. One thing that had stuck with her from her mentors’ instructions was to watch the other Reapings, in order to make an early assessment of the competition. Belle bit her lip. “Competition”. As if there would be a winner after this. 

Still, that was something she could do. It was a clear task, something that could take up her intellect and distract her from thoughts of the future. Results from the first five or six districts, at least, should be up already. 

The Reapings from the early districts went as expected. A series of attractive and fierce-looking tributes with Career names volunteered and took to the stage, staring boldly into the camera. They were so standard, it was almost boring. (One was called “Aurora”. Belle rolled her eyes.) Then there was District Three, and Belle forced herself to give her own district the same scrutiny as the others. Looking at her own performance, she was happy to see that at least she held her head high, and there was no hint of the tears she had let flow freely, later, when saying goodbye to her father. Michael, however, was not holding up well. 

From the next three districts, there were some tributes that stood out immediately for one reason or another. The red-haired female tribute from Four, Ariel Andersen, was probably mute. Not that many tributes spoke anyway, but as she took to the stage, she was using sign language to signal to someone in the crowd. The male from Five was very handsome, and from the way he looked both at his district partner and at the cameras, there was something almost sweet and sympathetic about him. That could be a problem for him, but he looked well-built enough to still have some advantage. Belle noted the name Hans, but missed his last name. The boy from District Six seemed just that: a boy. He was seventeen, apparently, but his pretty, almost girlish features made him look younger. There was something in the way he held himself, though. He was clearly very determined. _Fa Ping_ , Belle thought, deciding to keep an eye on him. 

Then, just as she was about to give it up for the moment, the replays cut back to the two commentators and introduced the Seven Reaping. Belle watched with interest. She remembered the last Seven victory—she’d only been twelve at the time, but it had been one that had immediately etched itself into the public memory. 

The camera panned over the forest-covered district, treating the audience to some rather pretty landscapes, and then cut to a large gathering of people, looking up at a stage with the expressions Belle knew so well from her own district. Up on stage, the previous victors of the district stood lined up behind the Capitol representative. Belle bent forward closer. She tried to fight the celebrity awe the victors inspired, in particular because she knew it was what the Capitol wanted her to feel, but she couldn’t help wondering about Elsa Arendelle. There was something almost magically self-possessed about the woman; the icy mask of her Snow Queen persona never slipping. It was rumoured that she had never smiled since her Games—she definitely hadn’t in any victor photo, either staged or candid. 

The male tribute was Reaped first: Adam Benson. He detached from the seventeen-year-olds and made his slow way up to the stage. The camera panned over the crowd, zooming in on an older male couple, one tall, long-faced and fair and one short, almost plump (for District Seven), with long, pointed moustaches. They were hanging on to each other desperately, the plumper man dissolving into tears. The boy’s parents, Belle supposed, with a lump in her throat she tried to ignore.

The boy was large, almost feral-looking, with a great mane of shaggy hair, and when he turned to glare into the cameras, Belle shrank back from the screen. There was real rage in him. 

“A real _beast_ of a boy, this one,” one of the Capitol commentators said gleefully.

Next, it was time for the girls, and Seven’s Capitol representative dug into the bowl with some ceremony. He took out a piece of paper and opened it with a flourish, and then with a little gasp, he read the name. 

“Anna Arendelle!”

For a moment, there was an almost shocked silence. Then there was an anguished scream of “ _NO!_ ” and Elsa Arendelle threw herself forward. “No, no, you _can’t_!”

One of her fellow victors, the large man who had won maybe eight or nine years back, caught her quickly and held her back. She strained against him, throwing her head back to smash against his nose—and then, suddenly, it was as though all the fight went out of her. Throwing her gloved hands over her face, she turned her head into his shoulder and allowed him to lead her back into the line of victors. 

The cameras, revelling in the Snow Queen’s loss of composure at last, seemed almost to have forgotten to cover the actual Reaping, but now they swivelled to show her younger sister Anna, extremely pale, walking forward slowly but surely. She was dressed finely for a Seven tribute, her sister’s riches obviously in play, and as she walked, she tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from her elaborately braided hairstyle back behind her ear. Belle touched her own hair—prone to escape in just the same way—in recognition. 

How could she ever kill these people, she wondered quietly.

* * *

“What do we need to know about you?” Astrid Hoffersen asked, staring down at Hiccup. He shrugged. 

“I snore sometimes, particularly if I’ve had a drink the night before?”

“Who doesn’t,” the man who’d introduced himself as Gobber said placidly. He had won his Games almost thirty years earlier, becoming District Ten’s first victor, but he’d come out of them missing both an arm and a leg. The experience seemed to have made him a rather mellow person, however, something Hiccup privately thought was in large part due to the heavy self-medicating he was doing. He was very seldom seen without a drink of some sort. 

“I mean,” Astrid said, glaring briefly at Gobber, “do you have any skills at all? Something we as your mentors can use to make you interesting to the sponsors? Anything that can help you survive an Arena full of trained Career tributes who are trying to kill you?” 

Hiccup winced. “When you put it like that, I really don’t know.”

“Are. You. Good. At. Anything?” Astrid asked, leaning forward towards him and punctuating each word aggressively. 

Hiccup shrugged again. “I’m pretty good with animals,” he said. “Somehow, I seem to be able to make them do what I want.”

Astrid rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. She had won only the year before, at sixteen, surprising all the Capitol commentators with the way she could swing her heavy, double-sided axe. She was strong for her size, and her skill had come as a shock for her fellow tributes, all of whom had completely underestimated the little girl from District Ten. 

Hiccup hadn’t. He’d always known her strength. She had been in his year in school before she’d been Reaped, but he wasn’t sure if she’d even noticed his existence back then. 

He’d noticed her, though. 

“You are going to be completely useless, aren’t you?” she asked. He grinned weakly at her. She scowled at him. 

Gobber stood up, laughing shortly. “Well, I think you two are going to get along great. Why don’t you take this one and try to whip him into shape, Astrid, and I’ll go find the weeper.”

Astrid turned, mouth opening in protest, but he shook his head. “Better me for her than you. And I think you can do more for Hiccup here than I could anyway.”

He stumped off down the train carriage, closing the door behind him. Astrid turned back to Hiccup, frowning. 

“Sorry,” he said meekly. 

She glared at him, then sighed and sat down abruptly. “Look,” she said, “it’s just hard, OK? I’ve never done this before, and it’s like—” She trailed off, then suddenly put a hand on his. He flinched, but managed to control the impulse to shrug her off. 

“Just, please,” she said, “help me help you survive this.”

* * *

Anna knocked timidly on the door to her sister’s train compartment. 

“Elsa,” she said. “Elsa, please come out. We can figure this out together.”

There was no reply. Anna leaned her forehead on the door, letting the train’s movements rock her head this way and that. 

Someone cleared their throat, and she looked up quickly. Kristoff was looking at her, one hand scratching awkwardly behind his ear. 

“Elsa and I thought it was best if I mentor you, and she mentors Adam,” he said. When Anna just stared at him, he looked away and added in a mutter, “It’s difficult for her.”

_She’s not the one going into the Arena in a week’s time_ , Anna thought, but stopped the words before they made it out of her mouth. After all, Elsa had already been in the Arena once. 

“OK,” she said, moving back from the door. “So where do we start?” 

“With the competition,” Kristoff replied. “Come on.”

On the other side of the door, Elsa sat with her head in her hands, trying to force the tears to stop.

* * *

The Tribute Parade was one of those things that Tiana had dreaded from the moment she was Reaped. Her stylist had dressed her and her district partner, Aladdin, in short tunics made entirely out of wheat stalks woven loosely together. Tiana hardly dared move, afraid that the whole affair would crackle and fall away from her, exposing her to all the Capitol. 

Beside her, Aladdin was looking similarly uncomfortable. He was standing stiffly, but she noticed one hand moving subtly at his side. She looked closer. As she watched, he managed to remove one of the stones decorating their carriage, instantly whisking it out of sight somewhere under his tunic. As he did so, his eyes met hers, and after a moment’s brief hesitation, he gave her a crooked smile. It transformed him from a pinched and worn fifteen-year-old into someone surprisingly cute—his teeth white and straight, his cheeks dimpling, his eyes alive.

Tiana looked away from him, staring straight ahead instead. She didn’t want to get to know Aladdin. She didn’t want any of the other tributes to become _people_. She just wanted to get through this, without having to reflect on how. 

She could still feel Aladdin looking at her, so she gazed around at the other tributes, looking for a distraction. Close to them, the District Three tributes were getting into their own carriage. Tiana winced. She hated her own costume, but District Three’s was, if possible, even worse. The clothes were only marginally there—a series of black, stiff oblongs stitched together at random, only partly covering the tributes. 

Tiana was close enough to hear the stylists, twittering around their charges. 

“—all Caicias’ idea, really. It’s about ones and zeros—isn’t that clever?”

“But you were the one who realised how to turn the idea into clothes, Aphra! See, children, the oblongs represent the ones, and then of course the zeros are represented by the absence of cloth. On—off. There—not there. See?”

“I really thought it was _such_ a clever way of representing the district industry.”

“Oh, you.”

The two stylists swatted at each other, giggling and fighting over who could give the last compliment. Tiana looked at the tributes. The boy was very young, and looked close to tears. The girl was standing still and straight, her face controlled but hinting of anger underneath.

The District One tributes swept past, then, looking strong and proud and condescending. The girl’s blonde hair was falling in a tumble of curls past her bare shoulders, three stylists fussing around her like errant fairies and tucking each lock into perfect place as she walked. The boy wore a constant smile, turning this way and that to take in as much as possible. With them walked a group of former District One victors, each larger and more handsome than the last. 

As they passed the District Three chariot, one of them stopped suddenly. He was a very large man, almost ridiculously well-muscled, with a cleft chin and black hair in a rather silly-looking ponytail. 

“Well, _hello_ ,” he said, leaning on the District Three carriage and leering up at the girl tribute. “And who are you?”

The girl glanced at him, then looked away and rolled her eyes. One of her stylists jabbed her sharply with an elbow and then turned towards the man, smiling. 

“Hello, Gaston,” he said. “This is Belle, from District Three.”

“Belle,” the man called Gaston said, drawing out the word obscenely. “If ever a name fit its owner, this is surely it. What a shame you were born to a district that doesn’t know to value beauty.”

“No, we tend to value intellect,” Belle said mildly, still not looking at him. 

“ _Intellect_ ,” Gaston said, making a face. 

“Yes,” Belle said sweetly, turning towards him with a sudden smile. “I understand the concept may not be familiar?”

The District Three stylists both gasped, but Gaston only smiled wider.

“You should really have been born to One,” he said. “I could have made _such_ a victor out of you.”

He walked away, and Belle shuddered. 

“You should be grateful that a District One mentor is taking an interest in you,” one of the stylists snapped. “The more people that talk about you, the more chance you have of getting sponsors. Try to think, girl!” 

Belle just raised her chin, staring straight ahead of her. Tiana, however, mused on the words. The more people talked about you—she wondered if that was something she could use. Somehow, she’d have to make people remember her.

* * *

“So,” Kristoff said, “the first thing we’re going to do is think out a strategy. You have a little bit of a head start already, in that the Capitol already knows your name. We can use that.”

“You want me to capitalise on my sister?” Anna asked, frowning. She was still in her tree costume from the Tribute Parade, although she’d discarded the leafy crown as soon as the chariots stopped rolling. 

“I want to get you to live through this,” he said. “I’m going to use everything I can. And Elsa will, too.”

“She’s mentoring Adam,” Anna pointed out. “Shouldn’t she be focusing on getting him out alive?” 

Kristoff shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure about how Elsa was going to play this. Everyone in the Capitol knew that Elsa would do anything for her sister—her own Games had been about just that—so how she’d even managed to persuade Adam that she should mentor him was a mystery. He had to be wondering if Elsa wasn’t going to sabotage for him. 

“Wouldn’t it have been easier if Elsa mentored me?” Anna asked, clearly following the same line of thought. “Everyone will be assuming that she will anyway.”

There was something a little broken about her question, so Kristoff tried to make his answer as gentle as possible. 

“Elsa survives her mentoring by being detached,” he said. “She wouldn’t be able to it otherwise. As long as she can put herself apart from her tributes and just try to be intelligent and rational about the Games, she can do it. But having you here—it’s been her worst nightmare for the last four years. She can’t give you the advice you’ll need, because she’s too emotional.”

Anna looked at him, her mouth setting into a determined line. “Fine,” she said. “So we play the little sister card, then?”

He nodded, relieved. “That takes care of your stage persona. Talk about Elsa, about how she volunteered to save you once and about how she always protects you. Make the audience feel what she feels for you.” He paused, privately thinking that it wouldn’t be hard. Anna had a knack for making people like her—she was open, and warm, and enthusiastic. 

“That’s for the sponsors,” he said. “Then there’s the Arena. Do you have any skills that will be useful?”

Anna looked thoughtful. “I have a good throwing arm,” she said eventually. “And I’ll train.”

“You should work on throwing knives and axes, and maybe spears,” Kristoff said. “I know you have decent woodcraft—good enough to last you. Focus on weapons training, not survival. And watch the others. Make sure you know the other tributes, their strengths and weaknesses and any alliances that form. That will help you, later.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “You should go to bed now. Training starts tomorrow.”

He watched her go to her own room, then took the elevator down to ground level, heading out into the Capitol streets. The first mentors’ meeting usually took place in a bar somewhere close to the Training Center. He found the bar and was just about to enter, when he noticed Elsa approaching and waited to talk to her first.

“Adam OK?” he asked. She shrugged. 

“He has a good chance. He could do well, if he keeps his head. He’s strong, but he’s very angry.”

“And he’s OK with—I mean—” Kristoff broke off, unsure of how to phrase the question. 

“I’ve made it clear that I’m working for _his_ survival,” Elsa said, answering it anyway. “He believes me. Of course, there is a caveat to our arrangement, but he’s aware of it and I believe he’s accepted it as part of the deal.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, Kristoff trying to think of what to say. He didn’t know what she meant by caveat, but he felt sure she wouldn’t explain it anyway. He worried about her own stability, but didn’t know how to raise the issue. And he wanted to reassure her that Anna was stronger than Elsa feared. But if Elsa wasn’t going to ask, he didn’t want to take the first step. 

“They’ll be talking alliances today,” Elsa said finally. Kristoff nodded. 

“You know,” he said, deciding that these words must be said, at least, “they’ll probably offer her a place in the Career alliance.”

“She won’t take it,” Elsa said shortly. Kristoff nodded again. 

Elsa had been hunted by the Career pack in her own Games. They had quickly realised that she was a tribute to look out for, and they’d concentrated their efforts on her. One of the Career boys had managed to get an arrow through her leg, and although she had escaped them then and had managed to hide herself, she had been delirious with fever for days after the attack. After she had managed to heal herself, she’d taken out the Career pack one by one until she was finally crowned victor, but Anna had never forgiven the hunt, five against one. 

Kristoff hesitated, then spoke quickly. “Are you sure you won’t mentor her? She needs your advice.”

Elsa face shuttered close. “I can’t,” she said tightly. “I wouldn’t—I can’t do it. It’s too much.” She paused for a moment, then added, “But I’ve done what I can. In my own way, I’m trying to keep her safe.” 

She pulled on her gloves nervously, tugging them tighter onto her hands. “I’m doing what I can,” she repeated, lacing her fingers together.

* * *

Hiccup sat down to dinner in the District Ten apartment, noting that his district partner Alice was missing again. Gobber was there, though, cheerfully drinking his way through yet another meal. 

“How was training?” Astrid asked. “Did you learn anything at all?”

“I learned how to make a fire,” Hiccup said mildly. “That seemed kind of useful.”

She glared at him, and he added, “And I also threw some bolas.”

“And did you hit anything with them?” she asked. He winced. 

“Not really?” When she sighed, he added, “But I really think I could, if I had some time. I think with the right materials, I could build a machine that—” 

“The lad’s an engineer,” Gobber said, smiling. “That could come in useful, certainly.”

“It could come in useful if he survived the first day,” Astrid snapped. “First, you have to get through the bloodbath. Nothing else matters, if you can’t survive that.”

“How about I just run really quickly?” Hiccup suggested. 

“I can hear the cannon already,” Astrid said, putting her head in her hands. 

“Yeah, that,” Hiccup said. “I’ve been wondering about that. How does it work? I guess it’s tied to the tracker they inject people with, but does it, like, track your heartbeat or—”

“It is not important!” Astrid shouted. “Are you even aware of what’s happening here? In less than a week’s time, you’ll be fighting for your life! Try to act like it!”

Hiccup stared at her, then fidgeted with his plate. “So,” he said, in an attempt to steer the subject onto something else, “did you know that there’s a rumour going around among the tributes that if you kill Anna Arendelle in the Arena, you’d better pray you don’t make it back as victor?”

“ _What_?” Astrid said. 

Hiccup lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah, apparently Elsa Arendelle will kill you. Intimately.”

Astrid stared at Gobber. “She can’t do that!” 

Gobber shrugged. “No rule against intimidation,” he said placidly. “And I’m betting it’ll be hard to find evidence that the threat came from her. I’m impressed, actually.”

“Hiccup,” Astrid said sternly, “I don’t care what that icy bitch is saying. You are going to survive the Games, and I don’t care how. And if that should mean Elsa Arendelle comes after you once the Games are over, for whatever reason, then _I_ will go after _her_.”

“Oh, I would pay to see that,” Gobber said, grinning. He quickly looked another way when Astrid turned her glare onto him, however. 

“So,” he said, refilling his glass and settling into his storyteller voice, “did I ever tell you about how I beat the District Two boy in my Games? He was a huge guy, but I had a sword…”

“Augh,” Astrid said, and laid her head down on the table. Gobber winked at Hiccup.

* * *

Rapunzel sat on the Training Center roof, looking out over the Capitol. She was French-braiding her hair almost absentmindedly, twisting in more and more hair as she worked. 

“That must be a bother to take care of,” someone said, and she turned to see the boy from District Nine, Flynn Rider, looking at her. He was standing awkwardly several feet off, as if not wanting to intrude. 

Rapunzel looked back at him, hesitating. She hadn’t wanted to get to know any of the other tributes. For the first day or two, she’d tried not to talking to anyone at all. But then she and Flynn had been working at the same station and she had needed to ask him to pass a few things, and after that it had been weird not to talk at all. And then there had been yesterday, when she had ventured out of the Training Center in an attempt to get some air, and had been immediately surrounded by a mob of Capitol journalists. Flynn had seen her as she walked towards the exit, had even shouted a warning that she’d heard only too late, and had pulled her back in with a lie about her mentors wanting a word. She was indebted to him for that. 

It was after that she discovered the roof. Up here, it was easier to let go—at least a little—of the fear that plagued her inside. 

She smiled weakly and inclined her head, making it a careful invitation. “I wanted my stylist to have it cut,” she said. “I thought that waist-length hair would only be a problem, once I entered the Arena. But she said it made me memorable, so I’m keeping it, I guess. I’m practising braiding it, though, to get it out of the way easily. I want to be able to do it quickly if I need to.”

“Memorable is good,” Flynn said, walking forward and sitting down beside her. “No one is going to cheer for a tribute they don’t know.”

“No one is going to cheer for a tribute who won’t kill anyone, either,” Rapunzel said quietly. She probably shouldn’t be saying this to a fellow tribute, but she’d seen the way Flynn’s face twisted in dislike when he held knives or swords. She couldn’t believe he’d kill lightly. “But I won’t. I can’t.”

“Then just survive,” he said. “Hide, and run, and keep out of the way.”

“That’ll just make the Gamemakers attack me,” she said. “I’ve watched the Games, you know. The tributes who aren’t interesting enough, they get caught in landslides and attacked by mutts and dropped down ravines.”

“Then you survive that, too,” Flynn told her. “You make yourself out to be a fighter, but not a murderer. You disable opponents, not kill them. And most of all, you make yourself interesting in other ways—that’ll make sponsors want to see more of you, even if you don’t kill anyone. You just need something they’ll think of when they see you. A life goal or something, perhaps.”

She sighed, looking out over the city again. The lights below attracted her—back in District Eight, the frequent power outages made electric light a luxury, and here there was _so much light_. Besides, from up above, without the garish, greedy display of its people, the city looked like it could actually be a nice place. 

She looked back at Flynn to find him gazing at her, considering. 

“What do you like most about the Capitol?” he asked. 

She was about to say that she hated everything about the Capitol and what it stood for, but she remembered what she’d heard about the Training Center being completely monitored. “I like the lights,” she said eventually, because that was at least more or less true. He leaned his head on one side. 

“I think you could use that,” he said. “Or something like it. Say that you talk about… fireworks. You talk about how they’re so luxurious and exotic for you as a district citizen. And your lifelong dream has been to see the victory fireworks up close—the ones at the victor’s ceremony, after the Hunger Games are over. You’ve dreamt about them ever since you were a little girl and saw your first Games.”

She laughed. The whole thing was absurd. “But that’s not true.”

“Who care if it’s true—it’s a story, that’s all. It’s something your mentors can sell.” He glanced behind him, then bent closer, as if to divulge a secret. “Nothing’s true here. I mean, my name’s not actually Flynn Rider.”

She stared at him, confused. “It’s not?”

He shook his head. “My mentor thought no one would want to sponsor _Eugene Fitzherbert_ , so we changed my name before I arrived in the Capitol. No one pays attention to the names at the Reaping anyway.”

She smiled. “I like Eugene better.” 

“I didn’t,” he said with a wry smile. “But I’m starting to feel a bit weird about it now. Somehow…” He paused, frowning, then went on, “Somehow, it’s starting to feel like I don’t exist anymore. The real me, I mean. I don’t have any family back home, and if I die in that Arena, I’ll be Flynn for ever. The only one who knows me as Eugene is my mentor.”

“And now me,” Rapunzel said. 

“And now you.”

They looked at each other in silence for some time, and then Flynn stood up, rather suddenly. “Well, I need to go to bed. Um, thank you. It was nice talking to you.”

She nodded, and watched him walk away. “Goodnight, Eugene,” she said, as he was about to leave the roof. He hesitated, and looked back quickly. 

“Goodnight, Rapunzel.”

* * *

Four days had passed since they had arrived in the Capitol. The final assessment of their physical skills was coming up quickly, and after that there was only the interview with Caesar Flickerman left before the Games started in earnest. 

“What have you learnt in today’s training?” Kristoff asked Anna, pointing a fork at her. They were eating alone again—Elsa tended to stagger her mentoring sessions with Adam so that the four of them never ate together. 

Anna was ready for the question. It was par for the course by now. “Ariel from Four is good with spears and tridents,” she said promptly. “The boy from Eleven, Aladdin, is a climber. He’s also a thief. He’s been taking knives and other small weapons from people when they have their back turned, and he’s been using that to drive wedges in the Career alliance. Aurora from One and Edward from Two almost came to blows today. Rapunzel from Eight looks harmless, but I should keep out of her way if she ever gets hold of rope. She can lasso anything, and she’s also a strong climber. Hans says—”

Kristoff held up a hand. “Hans?” he asked, frowning. 

Anna felt her face grow hot. “Yes, Hans. He’s from District Five. He’s—he’s been very kind over the last couple of days.”

Kristoff’s expression didn’t change. “You shouldn’t be too quick to trust people, Anna,” he said. “Everyone is in these Games to win. That means that sooner or later, friendships will only hurt you.”

“Hans isn’t like that,” Anna insisted. “He wants to survive, yes, but he doesn’t want to kill anyone—not even the Careers. And he hates these Games just as—”

“You know what—before we hit the dessert, there’s a balcony here on our level I think you should see,” Kristoff interrupted, suddenly and startlingly raising his voice. “They’ve managed to do some nice things with firs. In a very Capitol way, of course, but still…”

Anna frowned, confused, but he took her arm and led her through the dining area and onto a spacious balcony, lined with tiny firs growing in potted plants and decorated with golden ribbons, junipers cut into elaborate patterns and bonsai pines. Anna thought it was all rather gaudy, and couldn’t see the point. But it did make her long for the forest stretching wild and free back in District Seven, the smell of pine cones and freshly cut timber. 

She wanted to go home so badly. 

“You can’t say things like that in there,” Kristoff whispered, bending down until his face was inches from hers. “We’re always watched. Some things are best kept to yourself. Otherwise, you’re putting us all in danger.”

Anna shrank back, startled. She knew this already, of course, but somehow, she’d allowed herself to forget it. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, then glanced around. “I just wanted you to know that Hans is like us. He hates the Capitol and he wants these Games stopped.”

“Everyone wants these Games stopped,” Kristoff said, tired. “Especially once they’ve been Reaped themselves. That doesn’t mean you can just put your life in their hands.” He straightened up and shrugged. “But, well. If you think he can be of help to you, go for it. Just remember to please be careful.”

She nodded, but privately, she thought that he didn’t know what he was talking about. He didn’t know Hans like she did.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the Games begin.

Caesar Flickerman’s hair and lips were orange, clashing awfully with his suit. He laughed wildly with the audience, waving and almost dancing on the spot. 

“Welcome, welcome, to the 61st Annual Hunger Games!” he exclaimed. “And there are so many interesting faces here tonight; I can’t wait to see if you think as much of them as I do. Let’s get started! From District One, we have our first _gorgeous_ contestant—Aurora Briar, ladies and gentlemen!”

Aurora glided onto the stage as if she owned it, waving at the audience. Her three stylist fairies, sitting in the front row, screamed with delight. She gave a pitch perfect One interview, laughing with Caesar about her stylists’ ongoing fight over whether her dress should have been pink or blue and generally giving off a flirtatious but still deadly vibe. She was followed by her male colleague, who was just as standard District One in his cheeky flirtiness (“And what should I call you?” “Well, Caesar, most people just call me Charming…”), and by the tributes from Two and Three. 

Anna listened with half an ear to the interviews, focusing mostly on her own breathing. Besides, so many tribute interviews were mostly the same anyway. The Careers boasted about their prowess and were given darling nicknames by Caesar (Anna privately thought that “Snow White” for District Two’s Adriana was completely ridiculous), while the rest of the tributes just tried to make themselves memorable in some little way. 

The first Four interview was a little more interesting. The girl, Ariel, smiled and laughed like any Career girl would, but she spoke no words. Instead she waved her hands and used her very expressive face to answer Caesar’s questions as best she could by gestures and nods, and it gave the interview an aspect of almost whimsical fun. Anna watched her carefully. She wanted to hate the Careers on sight, because they were people who went into the Games on such completely different conditions than the rest of the tributes, but the last few days had made that hard, too. Ariel laughed at everything in the Capitol with a genuine, curious pleasure; Edward from Two was, although pompously inflated with his own ego, quite kind in a condescending way; and Aurora was obviously truly, almost familiarly fond of her stylist trio. As much as she tried not to, Anna had to concede that even the tributes from the Career districts were much like the rest of them. 

After Ariel came her district partner Thomas, a sailor who hailed from the same dock as her. He was red-haired like her, but unlike her, he spoke both loudly and cheerfully with a kind of naïve enthusiasm. And then it was time for District Five’s interviews. Anna found herself sitting up straighter as Hans eventually joined Caesar on stage and bowed to the the audience. Caesar laughed delightedly. 

“So, Hans,” Caesar said, “tell us about _you_. What can we expect from you in these Games?”

Hans shrugged, looking awkward. “I don’t know, really,” he said. “I’m just going to do my best to survive out there.”

“And you seem to have something to work with, at least!” Caesar exclaimed, grinning at the audience. “Quite a good training score, I’d say. Tell us—any special skills?” 

“I can use a sword,” Hans said, shrugging again. “More or less.”

“So humble!” Caesar laughed. “But tell me, Hans—who are you doing this for? Any special someone in your life who awaits your return?”

Hans opened his mouth, then closed it again. He seemed to struggle for words for a moment and then, slowly, he said, “I don’t know about that. But—I guess—you could say, I didn’t really know what I was fighting for until—until I got here.”

He looked away from Caesar, back towards the line-up of other tributes, and Anna sucked in her breath as their eyes met. 

“Oh my,” Caesar said, bringing one fist up to his mouth. “Oh, you can’t leave us hanging like that—whatever do you mean?”

Bur Hans only shook his head, refusing to elaborate, and led the discussion onto other topics. The interview ended finally with Caesar wagging his finger at Hans and saying playfully, “I will find out your secret sooner or later, you know. But for now I will simply wish you luck in your fight—whatever or whomever it is for…” He winked hugely at the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, the _mysterious_ Hans Sonderburg, from District Five!”

Anna’s heart was racing as Hans took his place among the other tributes. Kristoff had told her to be careful, to not put her trust blindly in anyone. But Hans seemed to have no such reserve. He was honest and open without thinking, giving his thoughts and his trust freely. In a world of anxious cynicism such as this, Anna reflected, it was wonderful to find someone so true. 

And he had looked at her. 

She was so preoccupied by her thoughts that she only suddenly realised that the interviews had reached the boy from District Six, and she was next up. She made herself listen again. 

“—a _very_ high training score,” Caesar was saying. “Care to tell us a little about it?”

“I know my way very well around blades,” the boy, Ping, said. “My father taught me.”

He was trying to make his voice sound deeper than it was, Anna thought—probably trying to make up for having such a girlishly sweet face. She wasn’t sure it was doing him any favours, though. Capitol people usually liked their tributes pretty. 

She breathed in deeply as Caesar finished up with Ping, and the next she knew, it was her name being called. 

She rose and walked forward, stumbling at the last moment and almost falling into Caesar’s arms. 

“Oh, steady there!” he laughed. “Can’t have you hurting yourself on the eve of the big day.”

For a moment, his words were so grotesquely out of place that she could only stare at him. Then she got hold of herself and managed a weak smile before sitting down heavily. She tried to recall her role to mind—the little sister, needs to be protected, _sweet_ —but his words had made her almost angry to remember.

“Of course,” Caesar asked, “I have to start by saying that I believe we _all_ remember your sister’s victory as something quite glorious. Don’t we, folks?” he asked the audience, who cheered with him. 

“She was so brave,” Anna said quietly. “And she did it to save me. She wanted to spare me from the Games.”

“Sisterly love,” Caesar said, putting a hand to his heart. “And she did. She did.”

“Yes,” Anna said, and she couldn’t stop her wry smile. “Well. And yet, here we are.”

She looked out over the audience. For a moment, she caught Kristoff’s eye, and saw him give a small shake of the head. No, of course. She couldn’t criticise. 

“Anyway, now all I can do is hope to live up to her legacy,” she added, switching back onto the _grateful little sister_ -track. She even managed a more guileless smile, to take the sting out of her previous comment.

“Maybe she’s even taught little sis a trick or two, eh?” Caesar said roguishly, and Anna drew a deep breath of relief. Now this she could turn to her advantage, fitting it into the role Kristoff had thought up for her.

“Not really,” she said, giving a self-deprecating shrug. “Elsa always wanted to protect me from that stuff. She’s never wanted me to have to deal with anything violent at all, really.”

She could see, when she looked out over the audience, that this was hitting its mark. It felt weird to portray herself as essentially helpless, but she trusted that Kristoff knew what was going to bring in the sponsors. 

“Let’s talk a little about how you have found the journey so far,” Caesar went on. “What do you think of our fair city? And how has training found you?”

Anna smiled. “It’s all been a little overwhelming, but exciting,” she said. 

“And how about the other tributes?” Caesar asked, and she suddenly became aware of a drive behind his questioning. “Any potential allies or friends among them?”

Anna hesitated, flustered. “I—I don’t know, really,” she said evasively. 

“Oh, Anna,” Caesar said, grinning. “How very _mysterious_ you’re being.”

 _Shit_ , Anna thought. At the same time, though, she couldn’t help in some part being happy about being connected to Hans in this way. 

Caesar wrapped up quickly after that, and she stood up to accept her applause, walking back to her seat as Caesar introduced Adam with a cheerful shout of “And now, the _Beast_ of District Seven: Adam Benson!” She’d done it. She’d managed the interview.

Now, she thought with a growing sense of panic, the next stage was coming. Tomorrow meant the Arena.

* * *

Aurora listened to the interviews with an outwardly calm, slightly bored expression. Inside, though, she was worried. 

This was a dangerous year. The tributes from One, Two and Four were used to being the most interesting in the field—that was what helped them uphold their position and advantage. It wasn’t just the training and knowledge of weapons, although of course that helped. Sponsors were the really important part. Sponsors kept you alive. And this year, the outlying tributes were doing all they could to steal the sponsor interest right from the get-go. 

Ping from District Six had shocked everyone by beating out half the alliance with his training score, while his district partner, Megara, had a snarky, sarcastic nature that had made for excellent banter with Caesar. The girl from Eight had a sickeningly sweet story about a lifelong dream involving fireworks, of all things, but the Capitol audience had eaten it up with a spoon. Then there was the dangerous-looking and simply gorgeous Esmeralda Ringer from District Nine, whose obvious anger had manifested in an alarming way during training week. And now, Aurora was listening to the girl from District Eleven, Tiana Rose, give a ridiculously good interview. 

“You have shown a marked improvement during training week, I understand,” Caesar said. “Care to tell us about it?”

“I’ve always been a very hard worker,” Tiana said, her cheeks dimpling adorably. “Whenever I put my mind to something, I won’t give up until I’ve conquered it. And that goes for everything from cooking to, well, knife throwing.”

“What a fighter you are!” Caesar exclaimed, reaching forward and squeezing her hand. “Have you ever heard anything like it, ladies and gentlemen? And tell me, how has this determination shown itself during your life?”

“Well,” Tiana said, “since I was twelve, I’ve been putting money together to start my own restaurant. In fact, I was getting pretty close, but I had bigger dreams than that.”

“Oh? Do tell?”

“I know it might not have been possible,” Tiana said, now looking a little uncertain, “but my real dream was to open up in the Capitol.”

Caesar looked almost shocked for a moment, but then laughed. “What a wonderful idea!” he said. “How exotic! And if it wasn’t such a delight to have you here with me, I’d be quite upset that this has put a stop to that dream.”

“That’s because you haven’t tasted my gumbo, Caesar,” Tiana said with another wonderful smile. “If you had, you’d have been absolutely _livid_.”

Caesar laughed riotously. “Well, now my interest is more than piqued!” he shouted. “So, you know, this is what we’ll do. You’ll go and win those Games, and then I’ll be the first guest at your new restaurant. Do we have a deal?”

“I’ll reserve you a seat for opening night,” Tiana said, and they laughed together. 

Aurora seethed quietly. What was up with all these tributes with no media training at all playing the cameras like they had a right to them? Aurora had worked for years for this opportunity. And here came tribute after tribute, just owning the stage as it if came naturally to them. 

She looked down the line of tributes, stopping when she came to District Seven. There was the very worst of them. Anna Arendelle, using her sister’s fame like a tool. Hans from District Five was already muscling in, trying to ride on her success, and other tributes wouldn’t be far behind. Aurora knew that her own mentors had approached Arendelle with an offer to join the alliance, but had been rebuffed—and that was very worrying. With her fame by association, Anna Arendelle could become a leader in her own right in the Arena, and many of the other tributes could help buffer a second alliance. Aurora and the rest of her alliance could be in danger. 

The solution was simple: take out Anna Arendelle quickly. Aurora had heard the rumours, of course—Elsa Arendelle had apparently warned the male tribute from Seven that she would help him through the Games, but only on the condition that he didn’t kill Anna, once in the Arena. This had spread quickly by the rumour mill that was the tribute training, and soon everyone knew that if you killed Anna Arendelle, you would have to deal with her sister afterwards. 

Still. There was a support system in place for District One victors, too. If Elsa tried to hurt Aurora once she had made it out of the Arena, she would have the massed ranks of District One to deal with. 

Aurora narrowed her eyes at Anna Arendelle. She definitely knew what her focus would be, once the bloodbath started.

* * *

Belle could hardly sleep the night before the Games. Intellectually, she knew she should, but there were too many thoughts and fears whirling in her head for her to relax. 

Her interview with Caesar had gone poorly, but she had expected that. It was hard to turn a lifetime of bookish contentment into a tale of a fierce fighter. She had been an inventor together with her father, and she might have done something with that—like her mentor Beetee—but she had never worked with weaponry. She had made machines for sorting, and for easing aching backs, and for making everyday life in District Three easier. 

There was no warrior in her. 

She knew she could still survive, though. She had calculated the odds. Those tributes who survived the first day of their Games tended to die from exposure, not fights. Depending on the Arena, Belle could have a chance just by hiding and living off whatever the Arena offered. She’d spent every training day at the survival stations, and she now had a good working knowledge of how to make nature work for her. 

She lay back, willing sleep to come. But things kept coming back, no matter how she tried. Her father, being dragged forcefully away from their farewells by Peacekeepers when he wouldn’t leave her. Gaston, whose leers had followed her around for the past week—a walking reason to almost hope for something other than victory, if the alternative was joining him in the victors’ ranks. The Arena, looming closer by the second. 

Adam from District Seven, glaring into the cameras. 

Belle put her pillow over her head, shutting the world out. 

She woke at dawn the next morning, only barely rested but with adrenaline already humming under her skin. Forcing down breakfast, she joined her stylist Caicias on the hovercraft taking her away to the Arena, staring blankly out the window while he chatted about the absolutely wonderful party he’d been to the night before. 

She dressed in a brightly lit, underground room. The clothes were all white and light grey: fur-lined boots, thick trousers with the sheen of water-repellent material about them, and a heavy jacket with fur-trimmed hood. 

“Ooh,” Caicias said, pursing his lips. “You’re not heading for any sunny beaches, sweetie.”

 _Snow_ , Belle thought. _I didn’t prepare for snow._

* * *

“No,” Elsa gasped, as the screens in the mentor lounge blinked into life and they saw the Arena for the first time. “No, you _son of a_ —” 

“Quiet,” Kristoff hissed, grabbing her arm. “Elsa, don't be stupid!”

“He’s doing it on purpose,” she whispered, wrenching free and running her hands through her hair, the way she always did when she was panicking. “He’s punishing me. It’s obvious! This Arena was made to mock me.”

“It could be a coincidence,” Kristoff tried. She turned on him. 

“You think so? You think it’s a _coincidence_ that my sister gets Reaped and then there is a snow arena?” She shook her head vehemently. “But I don’t know _why_. Why is he doing this to me? I’ve done everything he asked of me!”

Kristoff shrugged, although he might have hazarded a guess. By saving Anna from the Arena and then going so far as to win, Elsa had created a legend. She had proven that it was possible to beat the Games. And she had done it contemptuously, too—by keeping up her role as the distant Snow Queen and never allowing them to get close to her, she had distanced herself from the Capitol and the Hunger Games. Of course President Snow had to punish her for it, and of course he had to show everyone that no one ever, _ever_ beat the Games. 

Kristoff had never hated anyone so much.

* * *

Aurora looked out over a snow-covered plain, with the large silver Cornucopia standing right in the middle of it. Tributes were dotted around in an even circle, their clothes making them hard to distinguish among the blinding white all around. She squinted around, trying to recognise her alliance friends. 

She found Ariel’s red hair first, then the other Four tribute, Thomas. The rest of her alliance was harder to locate, but she was already looking for Anna Arendelle instead. She finally located her standing five tributes away—longer away than she would have liked, but still possible to reach with determination. So, first she’d have to get hold of a weapon, and then she’d go after the little Snow Princess. 

She readied herself, glancing up at the countdown, ticking down steadily towards zero. 

The bell rang, and Aurora very quickly found out how hard it is to run in snow. She stumbled and almost fell, then managed to right herself and ploughed on towards the central Cornucopia. Breathing hard and cursing under her breath, she finally managed to reach a stand of blades. She hesitated for a moment over a short sword, but then realised that any chance she would have of getting Anna now would have to be long-range. Grabbing a set of throwing knives instead, she ran as fast as she could back from under the cover of the Cornucopia and sought for Anna’s form. For a moment, she was afraid the girl was lost to her, but then spotted her running determinedly away towards the snow-covered forest lining the Cornucopia field, one backpack over her shoulder. 

It was a great distance, but Aurora had a good arm. She ran further until she was sure of her target, then grabbed a knife and took aim. 

As she was getting ready to throw, however, Aurora saw Thomas out of the corner of her eye, falling with an arrow through the throat. She threw herself aside, just as another arrow whistled past her. 

“ _What_?” she gasped, rolling back onto her feet and looking around her for the source of the shot.

She was red-haired, like Ariel, but her hair was wild and untamed, falling around her face in crazy curls. She was young and rather short, but had augmented her height by getting on top of one of the boxes of supplies. She stood there now, like some kind of conquering hero, straight and proud and already nocking another arrow. 

“And who the _fuck_ are you?” Aurora spat. 

“I,” the girl said, “am Merida DunBroch. And I’m here to show you that the fate of District Twelve is not so given as you all think it is!”

She loosed her arrow, but this time Aurora was ready and avoided it easily. She sidestepped, then threw the knife she already had in her hand back at the girl, who jumped out of the way and then turned and ran, ducking around the Cornucopia. 

Aurora swore, kicking the closest backpack several feet in rage. There was a noise behind her, and she spun on her heel, a knife in her hand by the time she had turned. It was the girl from District Five, who had obviously been trying to sneak up on her, a short, curved sword in one raised hand. Aurora knocked the sword aside and sunk her knife into the girl’s ribcage, kicking her away as she gasped. 

One down, she thought, and plodded onwards around the side of the Cornucopia, furiously kicking up snow as she went. 

By the time she got there, it was all over. One boy was on his knees trying to pull a sword from the snow, whimpering and clutching at a heavily bleeding head wound; she gave him a quick and clean death. For the rest, it seemed her alliance friends had done what they could. There were some stragglers still visible almost at the treeline, but they were too far for her or any of the others to take up the chase now. 

She found the rest of her group gathering already, and immediately noticed the absence of not only Thomas, but Adriana from District Two as well. 

“Where’s Adriana?” she asked. Ariel shook her head, pointing a little further away. 

“Ah, hell,” Aurora said, seeing the still form staining the snow red. So much for “Snow White”, she thought. “The girl from District Twelve? The one with the bow?” 

Ariel nodded grimly, pressing her lips together. Aurora thought about Thomas, falling to the ground, and recalled that he and Ariel had seemed kind of close. She sighed. District Four’s tributes trained, but not on the scale of One and Two, and they never seemed to learn the lesson that had been hammered into Aurora all her upbringing: if you intended to be a victor, then sooner or later, you’d have to deal with your district partner’s death. It was better to accept it as inevitable from the start. 

That knowledge wouldn’t be helpful now, though. She reached out a hand to pat Ariel’s shoulder, wanting to give some little comfort, but Ariel only shrugged her off and walked a few paces off, staring away towards the surrounding forest. 

“District Twelve,” Edward muttered. He was sitting on top of a box of supplies, clutching his leg. “Who saw _her_ coming?”

“They’ve turned out some pretty decent archers over the years,” said Aurora's district partner Florian, or “Charming” as the Capitol now called him. Aurora rolled her eyes. 

“Well, thanks for telling us now,” she said. She looked closer at Edward, noting how pale he was and the sweat on his forehead. “What’s wrong with you?”

“The guy from Six,” he said. “I entered close combat with him over a sword. He got in a good slash.”

He took away his hands from leg, showing her a deep gash in the side of his thigh. She winced. 

“OK,” she said, “let’s head into the mouth of the Cornucopia. It’ll be warmer there, and we can dress your wound, Edward. Besides, we need to give the hovercrafts time to pick up the dead.”

She glanced at one of the closest fallen tributes, she thought possibly from District Ten, who had an arrow sticking out of his leg and what looked like a knife wound in his stomach—and then she turned away, sickened. If they were looking for a gory show, the Gamemakers had certainly chosen their Arena well. Aurora was sick of the sight of red on all that white already. 

“Come on,” she said, offering her shoulder to Edward for support. “Let’s give them space to work.”

* * *

Anna trudged through the forest, panting with the exertion. “Snow,” she said out loud, pushing the word out between gritted teeth. “Of all the arenas, I have to get the snow one. The one with the _freezing to death_ and _not being able to hide_ and—” 

She stopped, looking behind her. For anyone following her, it would indeed be the easiest thing in the world to find her. 

All right, then. First, she needed to become invisible. 

She raised her leg, careful not to disturb the snow around the mark left by her boot, and stepped back into her own footsteps. She kept walking back like that, every now and again looking all around her to make sure that no other tributes were visible. Once she had retreated enough that she could no longer see where the path ended, she struck off in another direction, walking for a few minutes and then retracing her steps in the same way. 

Her heart was hammering in her chest, wanting to run away and hide. She forced herself to slow down and walk carefully, taking her time, even though it made the panic ever worse. 

As she arrived back at the point where her steps branched off and then walked away on a third path, she passed a large pine tree. The lower branches were bare, no snow caught on them—meaning she could probably climb it without leaving traces. She made her red herring path longer this time, forcing herself to go on longer than even she herself thought necessary, then hurried as fast as she dared back towards the tree. She swung herself easily into it, climbing upwards quickly and revelling in the feeling of her arms’ strength. 

She and Elsa had always loved climbing trees as girls. Their native district had offered plenty of practise, and they had spent many afternoons sitting high up in sturdy branches, flicking pieces of bark at each other and giggling. Of course, that had been before their parents had died and everything changed. 

Anna finally stopped her climb high up in a pair of forked branches, and now she finally opened her backpack to take stock. It contained a pair of snow shoes, a coil of rope, an ice pick and—just as she was beginning to fear that she’d managed to grab a pack with only tools—a tin of hard bread and, most gloriously, a vat of butter. She dug into the scant meal with relish. The realisation that she’d managed to survive the bloodbath hit her, then, and for the first time, she allowed herself to feel a glimmer of hope. 

She rubbed her hands together, red with the cold, and tried to draw them as far as she could into her sleeves. 

“All right,” she said out loud. It made her feel like a crazy person, but Kristoff had told her to be aware that the cameras would always be there. She could use them for her own ends, telling the Capitol audience what she wanted or needed, or just use them to build on her role, making the sponsors want to help her. 

“What would Elsa do?” she mused, quietly enough that it wouldn’t be heard by anyone on the ground, but still loud enough to be picked up by any watching cameras. She rubbed her hands together again. “Elsa wouldn’t be worrying her hands were going to drop off, for a start. Elsa is never cold.” She laughed shortly, because that was true. Elsa tended to give off the impression that the weather didn’t have the right to mess with her. 

“Elsa would begin by making her perimeter secure,” Anna went on, because talking about Elsa out loud had made her realise it. “OK, then.”

She opened her pack again, frowning at her supplies, then grabbed the rope. She climbed down for a while, then looped the rope around the different branches, bending them upwards and tying them to smaller, thinner branches with lots of needles. She gave it a try once she was finished and nodded to herself in satisfaction. No one would be able to climb past this point without making a lot of noise, as the different branches swayed and rustled, caught up in each other. 

“Rope,” she said, patting it. “You’re going to come in handy. But I’m going to need more of you.”

She climbed back up to her nest, pleased with her work. Now, she thought she might even dare to sleep. 

There was a parachute waiting for her when she arrived back up. She looked at it, startled—she’d never have thought the sponsors worked that fast. She opened the soft package tied to the parachute, finding a pair of bright blue gloves and a raspberry pink cap. 

Only the knowledge of cameras stopped her from rolling her eyes. The Capitol had solved her freezing problem by turning her into a target. 

Still, there was no sense in turning down a gift, and she could hide at least hide the cap under the hood of her jacket. Pulling on the gloves, she held them up to the sky. When she pretended that she could see Elsa’s and Kristoff’s faces there, it was easier to fake the grateful smile. 

“Thank you to my sponsors,” she said, waving both hands in an almost childish gesture. Inwardly, she thought cynically that no one watching these Games from outside would guess that she was eighteen years old—older even than Elsa had been in her Games. But she trusted that Kristoff had been right in his assessment of the Capitol. It wasn’t about what was true; it was about what story they expected to see. She fired off another brilliant smile at the sky, then anchored herself into the tree with the help of her backpack, pulled her tell-tale blue hands as far into her sleeves as they would go, curled up and went to sleep. 

When a second parachute dumped three coils of rope of varying length and thickness onto her half an hour later, startling her awake, she decided to officially call Kristoff’s plan for getting her sponsors successful.

* * *

A few kilometres off, Rapunzel sat in a tree of her own, looking up at the sky. Night had fallen, and the Hunger Games anthem had kicked off the parade of the dead, broadcast onto the sky. 

District Two’s Adriana, or Snow White, had started off the series of fallen tributes, shocking Rapunzel. She was followed by Michael from Three and then a second Career tribute, Thomas from Four. That meant the career pack was severely diminished already, and although that _might_ mean that the rest of them were only more focused and bloodthirsty, it couldn’t only be a bad thing. 

She kept watching, mouthing each tribute’s name to herself as they appeared. They had been kids just like her, with their own fears and dreams. And she wanted to remember them as people, not numbers. 

Eilonwyn from District Five, one of the younger tributes. Megara from District Six, sneering down from the sky. The next face was difficult—Arthur, Rapunzel’s district partner. She’d seen him go down, hit with a rock by Esmeralda from District Nine as they fought over a backpack, and she hadn’t gone to him. Instead, she’d run. 

Both Ten tributes had fallen, the young blonde girl called Alice and the boy called Hiccup. And lastly, the boy Taran from District Twelve closed off the deaths, and the sky went dark again. 

Rapunzel leant her head back against the tree trunk, reciting the names in her head. They would not be remembered or discussed in the Capitol, but she was going to make sure that, for as long as she was alive at least, none of them were forgotten.

* * *

“So,” Plinius said, grinning over at Fauntleroy, “I think we can call these Games thoroughly started. What do you think? Is this year living up to expectations?” 

Fauntleroy raised his eyebrows, grinning back. “Oh yes, I certainly think so,” he said. “It’s been a slightly timid start, but then of course we saw something quite unique with the attack of District Twelve. Who saw that coming?”

“I didn’t!” Plinius exclaimed. “When our beautiful Snow White fell like that—I _screamed_.”

“I know. I was there,” Fauntleroy said, elbowing him, and they both laughed. 

“But of course you’re right,” Plinius went on. “We have a little joker in the deck here. And with the alliance we were all expecting so brutally decimated, I would say all bets appear to be off.”

“And so,” Fauntleroy finished, “the day closes on a set of pretty little birds, caught in their trees. We have both District Eleven tributes, District Eight’s girl and Six’s boy, as well as of course our Anna Arendelle of Seven, all choosing to nest up high for the night. Let’s see what the morning brings. But our little birds need to be aware—as soon as the remaining alliance wakes up and heads out, I think we’re going to see some feathers fly.”

They laughed again, clinking their glasses together, and the telescreens cut back to replays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It may now be apparent why the working title for this fic was "Fanny Kills the Disneyverse". I'm sorry. :(


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several alliances form over the course of the first few days.

Tiana woke up with a start. She gripped the trunk behind her with both hands, looking around for whatever had made her wake. It was early morning, dawn just breaking, and the dim light turned everything into shades of grey. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and the forest was as quiet as could be expected. 

Then, as she was beginning to relax again, the noise came again. She looked down again, and finally she became aware of the form sneaking around among the trees. Whoever it was, they were moving stealthily, but it was impossible to be entirely silent in the cold morning snow. 

For a few moments, she couldn’t place the figure. Since it was a lone tribute, she ruled out any of the Careers from the pack, and at first she thought it might be the girl from District Nine. But then the figure turned her head, and Tiana shrank back against the trunk of her tree, her heart in her throat. It was the blonde girl Career from District One, the one who looked most dangerous of them all. 

Tiana quickly took stock of her surroundings. She hadn’t left any tell-tale signs around the tree, since she had mucked up the tracks all around the surrounding area by dragging a broken pine branch around for almost a quarter of an hour before selecting her tree for the night. And she wouldn’t be easily visible from down below, either—she’d chosen a branch heavily laden with snow, to be able to melt into the surrounding with her white clothes. If she just stayed silent, it was possible that she could stay hidden here. 

She almost stopped breathing, watching as the girl walked carefully and slowly around each tree, staring up into its branches. Why was she hunting solo, Tiana wondered? Had the rest of the alliance fallen apart after the two deaths she’d seen yesterday? Or was it just because this girl was simply so much more focused on winning than the rest of them were? Still, Tiana could see that there was immediate advantage to hunting alone as she did now. The pack would have been much easier to notice, certainly. 

The girl stopped suddenly, staring up into the branches of a nearby tree. She planted her feet firmly and opened her jacket to display a bandolier of throwing knives, then drew one out and drew her arm back. 

Tiana didn’t even see the knife leave her hand, only heard the rustle as it passed up between the branches, and then a loud yell. There was a crashing sound, and then Tiana caught sight of a form, falling. She drew in her breath sharply. 

The tribute never reached the ground, however. An arm shot out and grabbed a branch, and the form halted its fall, swinging back up into safety. Tiana put a hand over her mouth. She had recognised him. It was Aladdin. 

The One girl hadn’t come unprepared. She threw another knife up at Aladdin, and then another, but he dodged around with impressive speed, swinging himself back up the tree, branch by branch. There was a red stain on one calf, where the girl’s knife must have hit him, but he was moving well for all that. To Tiana’s shock, he even made time for sticking his head down and making a face at the Career. And then, as she was angrily marching forward, looking as though she was considering climbing the tree herself to get at him, he bent his knees and _jumped_. There was a dizzying moment when Tiana was sure he wouldn’t make it, but he landed in a nearby tree, scrabbling inwards and upwards, then moved through to the other side and jumped again for another tree. 

Below, the girl was trying to keep up, but the deep snow she had to wade through made her slow. Aladdin jumped again and then again, moving with catlike grace. And then he was suddenly there, right next to Tiana. His eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t say anything and he didn’t pause to give her away, only flashed her a quick smile before dashing onwards and jumping for the next tree. Soon, he was only a disappearing rustle far away, and the girl below finally gave up the chase, kicking the nearest tree in frustration. 

“Shit!” Tiana heard her swear, and then she was moving off, too, stomping angrily back the way she had come, all attempts at stealth abandoned. She must have never guessed that there was a second tribute there, hiding only a few trees away from the first. Then again, how could she? Tiana hadn’t known herself. Aladdin must have come after she had already fallen asleep. 

She found herself smiling. Her district partner was more resourceful than she had expected.

* * *

Belle hugged herself and shivered, peeking out from underneath the branches of the fir tree she had used for cover during the night. The heavy branches covered with snow had actually insulated quite well against the cold, and underneath them, the ground had been bare and had provided a good resting spot. She’d been lucky. 

She wouldn’t be able to keep hiding out there, though. It was too exposed, and if the Careers started poking around, they were sure to find her sooner or later. She would need to find a more permanent solution. 

Once she had made sure that there were no other tributes around, she left her cover and plodded away through the forest. She scanned the snow as she walked, noting the tracks of birds and rodents. If she could manage to find a safe enough place to make her base, that meant she could set up snares. The only problem was rope—she had run without attempting to get any provisions at the Cornucopia.

She’d noted that the ground was sloping slowly upwards in one direction, so she went that way, thinking that she might find a more mountainous part of the Arena. By early afternoon, she found what she’d hardly dared hope would be there. The forest rose into a rocky slope that soon turned into a sheer cliff face, and there, as the ground gave way for the mountain, Belle found a crack in the rock that led her into a narrow but deep cave. 

She could have cried for joy. 

She began by exploring the cave as far as it would go, making sure there were no signs of anyone having been there before. Then she unlaced the boots, fashioning the laces into the snares she’d been practising during the training week. And then she headed out again, feeling much more hopeful than she had the day before. Having somewhere to call home in a small way had done much to lift her spirits. 

About an hour or so later, she arrived back at the cave with her arms full of wood that she’d gathered on the way back. It would need to dry inside before she’d dare light it, but she’d managed without a fire one night and thought she’d probably manage one more. Besides, she realised as she arrived back in, the ground in the cave was covered in last year’s grass, pine needles and twigs. She had things to work with here. Gathering as much of the kindling as possible, she sorted it into different piles according to size and then made a small pile of grass and twigs in one corner. Picking up two small rocks, she struck them against each other until she had sparks, then quickly bent down to breathe some oxygen into the small flames taking hold of the kindling. 

It wasn’t a large fire, since she didn’t dare feed it any of the wood she’d gathered, but it took hold of the grass, eating away across the ground and petering out slowly. When it had burned itself out, Belle laid down on the sooty ground, sighing as the remaining warmth spread slowly into her bones. 

She fell asleep like that, curled up tightly on the ground. 

When she woke, she knew something was wrong. She could hear rustling and crackling further off, and when she raised her head carefully, she saw flickering light and smoke. The cave twisted a little away from the entrance as it dug into the cliff, so she couldn’t see all the way to the cave mouth, but it didn’t take her long to realise that someone was in the cave with her. 

She froze up, hardly daring to breathe, staring in front of her. Her clothes were so white that she feared whoever it was would be sure to see them and come, but she didn’t dare do anything do dirty them, because that would mean moving. 

She didn’t know how long she lay there, unmoving, but it felt like a lifetime. Finally, she must have shifted—or maybe some current of air moved through the cave—because one of her piles of kindling was suddenly disturbed, a few twigs falling with a clatter that sounded in Belle’s ears like thunder rending a summer sky. 

She lay still, waiting, hoping against hope. And then she heard the footsteps. 

Belle rolled up onto her knees, digging her toes into the ground for purchase. She scrabbled at her side, her fingers closing around one of the branches she had gathered for firewood. 

A large figure stepped into view. For a moment, all she could see was the sharp, clawed weapon held in one hand— _bagh nakha_ or _tiger claw_ , her mind supplied hysterically—and the other hand balling into a fist. She shrank back, raising her hands to ward off any attack. 

“Please,” she said weakly. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’ll leave, just—please.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat, feeling the tears start in her eyes and trying to get herself under control. She knew how pathetic she was sounding, but the metal claw was pulling at her attention. Finally, she tore her eyes away—and realised that she was looking at the boy from District Seven. 

It was hard to make out his expression in the gloom. She could barely see more than a silhouette. He took a step forward, and she gasped, pressing herself further back into the cave wall. He made a disgusted noise, stepping back with exaggerated care. 

“What?” he said, splaying his hands out in an exasperated gesture. “You think I’m some Career psycho?”

She looked up at him, confused and wary. He sighed, hanging the tiger claw from his belt and crossing his arms.

“It’s not like there would be any point in killing you anyway,” he said gruffly. “By the looks of it, you’ll get yourself killed on your own within a day or two.”

That made her angry—enough to forget her fear. “Yes, well, by the looks of it, you’ve been building a fire with wet and fresh wood,” she snapped, gesturing towards the smoke she could see behind him. “So who is the one who’ll be getting himself killed?”

He frowned at that. “What do you know about fires?”

“Everything they could teach at the Training Center, which was a lot,” she said. She stood up carefully. “Look, I can help you, if you let me stay here. That fire is dangerous. People will see the smoke and come. You should extinguish it, and then we could build a new fire that won’t smoke as much with the dead wood I gathered earlier. It should be drier than yours, at least.” 

He gave her a look that seemed to have a grudging amount of respect in it. “Fine,” he said, after some consideration. “Let’s see what you can do.”

While he extinguished his fire, she built up a new one and lighted it, watching carefully to make sure it didn’t smoke. She glanced at him sideways as he sat down beside her, hunching in towards the warmth. He had a backpack, she noted, and a bone-handled knife hanging from his belt together with the tiger claw. 

“What’s your name?” she asked, wanting to be polite. He snorted. 

“Call me Beast,” he said, shrugging. “All of the Capitol seems to.”

She looked closer at him. His hair was truly wild, not at all tamed by the Capitol stylists—who must have thought it looked exotic or something—and his expression was constantly angry. But his eyes, now that she could see him closer up, were a surprisingly beautiful blue. 

“It’s Adam, right?” she said. “From District Seven.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you knew?”

She looked away, flustered. “How can you not know fires if you’re from District Seven?” she asked, to cover her confusion. 

“It’s not just forestry and lumber in Seven,” he said, holding his hands out to the fire. “There are industry settlements, too. I grew up in one. I worked in a paper mill, but that’s as close as I got to trees at all. I’m no more familiar with the woods than a Capitol citizen.”

She smiled at that. It was easy to fall into generalisations about the districts, she thought. Panem was such a big place, really, not as neatly boxed up and categorised as it was easy to think. And outside, there was an even bigger world. There was so much she wished she could see and discover. 

She swallowed and hugged herself. What were the chances, now, of ever seeing that world? 

“Belle?” Adam said. “Are you cold? You should move closer to the fire.” 

“No, I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head, then realised. “Oh, so you know my name?”

He looked startled, then looked away. “Yeah, well, it’s an easy name to remember,” he said, and poked the fire a little too vigorously.

* * *

Esmeralda leant against a tree, closing her eyes against the early morning sun. 

_God, forgive me for what I’ve done_ , she thought. _And forgive me for what I must yet do._

She squeezed her eyes tighter shut, trying to shut out the image of that young boy who’d grabbed the same backpack as her at the bloodbath. She had hit him only to disable, but that had left him vulnerable to the Careers. When she’d seen his face in the sky that first night, she’d known that it was she who killed him, as surely as if she’d dealt the final blow herself. 

He’d been so young. 

She shook her head, opening her eyes again. She couldn’t think like that. She had to get home. Without her, Quasi would have no one. She had to get home to him, whatever it meant she would have to do. 

_I’m sorry_ , she thought, looking at the knife she had found in her backpack. _But I’m only doing what I have to._

She _would_ get home. No matter who she had to go through on the way.

* * *

One good thing about her stylists insisting that she keep her hair, Rapunzel thought, was that it was warm. She smiled as she tucked her thick braid around her throat, zipping her jacket up to keep it in place. She wouldn’t be in need of a scarf, at least.

Which was good, of course, because any eventual sponsor money would have to go to food. She knew her mentors had to be at work already, talking her up to any Capitol people with money to spare and the will to bet on an outlying tribute. They could mean her salvation. Now all she had to do was keep being interesting somehow. 

She adjusted the coil of rope she’d managed to snag at the Cornucopia over her shoulder and set off through the forest again. She was following the tracks of what she thought was a deer. Deer ate moss and things, she thought, things that humans could probably eat as well. If she could find where they were feeding, she might be able to survive on that for a while. 

As she was making her way through a thicket of small junipers, she heard a rustling somewhere over to her left. She halted in her tracks, listening closely, then crept towards the noise carefully, unslinging her rope and looping one end into a snare as she did so. It didn’t sound like more than one person, so it was unlikely to be the Career pack, but it might still prove to be someone dangerous. If she was quick, though, she might neutralise them. 

And there was always the possibility that it might be someone she wouldn’t have to fear. Eugene was still out there somewhere. 

She peeked out carefully from the cover of the junipers, looking around for the source of the noise, and found that she had stumbled upon a frozen pond, where the boy from District Six was kneeling down next to a hole cut in the ice. He wasn’t wearing his jacket, which was lying next to him with blood staining one sleeve, and he seemed to be bathing his right shoulder. Also beside him was a long sword, and two different backpacks. Chances were, one of them would contain food. 

Rapunzel hesitated. Maybe, she could manage to take him down for long enough to grab the backpacks and run. She took another careful step forward—and disturbed a bird that had been hiding in one of the bushes. It flew up with a screech, and the District Six boy spun around. As he did so, he threw his left arm over his chest, grabbing for his sword with the injured right. 

“Who’s there?” he asked, raising the sword to point in Rapunzel’s direction. His voice was lighter than the gruff tones he’d affected in his interviews, she noted. 

Something clicked in Rapunzel’s mind, and she looked at his pose, at the long, graceful hands and his pretty features, coming to a startling conclusion. She didn’t know if that made any real difference, but it was something to think about, at least. 

For a moment she hesitated, and then she stepped out of her hiding place, holding her lasso at the ready. 

“Rapunzel, District Eight,” she said. He stared at her. 

“Go away,” he said finally, gesturing at her. “You don’t want to fight me. But I don’t want to chase you. Just go.”

“I don’t want to fight you,” she agreed. “I want to join you.”

He snorted. “What, an alliance?” he said. She nodded. 

“Think about it,” she said. “There are still thirteen tributes left apart from you and me. It might not be such a bad idea to team up.”

“And why should I team up with you?” he asked, dismissive. “Are you even good at anything?”

She shrugged, smiling. “I’m good at a lot of things,” she said. “Cooking. Painting. Sewing and knitting, of course. And, well, I’m _very_ good at keeping secrets.”

He looked up at her sharply, and she smiled wider. “But more to the point now, I’m good with rope and I can climb. And… I also happen to know something about healing.” She leaned her head to one side. “What do you think? Maybe we could help each other out.”

He glared at her, and she knew he’d taken her point. Blackmail felt low, but if it was the way to ensure her survival, she’d do it.

“Fine,” he said, laying his sword down again. “Come over here, then.”

She moved forward cautiously, not letting go of her lasso, just in case. He only waited patiently for her to come closer, however, and presented his shoulder for her to look at. There was a stab wound just below his collarbone. It was clearly a few days old, from the bloodbath most likely, but had just opened up again. 

“This needs to be stitched,” she told him. He winced, then nodded towards one of the backpacks. It contained needle and thread among a few other medical supplies, and she looked longingly at the different salves. Her lips were already chapped from the cold and the sun, and her feet had blistered badly, too. This medical pack could definitely come in handy.

“So what happened?” she asked, as she began by washing the wound thoroughly. He grit his teeth.

“One of the Careers,” he ground out. “He wanted my sword, and attacked me for it. I won, but he already had a knife and managed to hit me. I got him back, though.”

She threaded the needle and regarded the wound thoughtfully. “I’ll put two stitches in,” she said. “This is really going to hurt. You might want to hold on to something.”

He nodded, his face pale. “Just get it over with,” he said, his hand clenching into fists. 

To his credit, he managed not to scream. She worked as quickly as she could, but still carefully, and when she was finished, she packed the supplies away again quickly, wanting to hide how much her hands were shaking. For all that she’d been doing some hospital work back home, and had seen stitches done many times, she’d never actually done it herself before. That was something she would keep to herself, however. 

“So what’s your name?” she asked. 

“Ping,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his face. He was still very pale, but looked determined not to make a fuss. 

She smiled, and under the pretence of looking closer at his wound, brought her mouth almost to his ear. 

“Is it really?” she asked in a murmur. 

He jerked back, then sighed, defeated. 

“It’s Mulan,” she said, so quietly that Rapunzel had to strain to hear her.

Rapunzel smiled again, letting her fingers linger against Mulan’s skin for a moment, and then pulling them back as if she was only suddenly realising what she was doing. Tucking her hair behind her ear in an awkward gesture, she looked away shyly. She could sense Mulan looking at her curiously, but she didn’t dare say anything else for the moment. She had a plan, though, and if she could get Mulan in on it eventually, they could both have a real shot at pulling in some sponsor interest. 

Rapunzel knew from watching the Games herself how the Capitol loved a hint of romance. Last year, the girl from District One and the boy from District Two had been all the commentators had talked about—at least until Astrid Hoffersen had put an axe in that relationship. Eugene had told her to make sponsors want to see more of her. She would make sure of it. 

Thinking of Eugene was a cold shower of a reminder, though, especially in this context. She would have liked to see him again. In some strange way, she even wished she could have found him instead of Mulan. 

But that was a dumb way of thinking, she knew. Being with him would only have hurt even more.

* * *

“Well, I think we have yet another alliance forming!” Plinius exclaimed, nudging Fauntleroy. “This is exciting. We have four tributes making camp at the Cornucopia. Yesterday we saw the Beast of District Seven find his Beauty, and today we have another duo. What do you think, Fauntleroy—will we see even more of this trend as the Games progress?”

Fauntleroy waggled a hand dismissively. “It depends on what happens, really. The fewer tributes that are left, the harder it will be for any of them to trust each other. Still, of course it helps if there’s been a connection even before the Games. I seem to remember that a certain District Five tribute seemed to have someone he found _very_ special…”

“On a _completely_ unrelated note,” Plinius said, grinning widely into the camera, “let us check in with Anna Arendelle! She seems to have made a relatively permanent base of her tree, but the last we saw of her, she was out trying to gather food. Let’s see how she’s doing…”

Kristoff frowned at the screen. He didn’t like the way District Five’s Hans was being linked with Anna. That meant that whatever he did would, in the end, reflect back on her, and Kristoff wasn’t at all sure that would be a good thing. The boy seemed quite sympathetic so far, but there was no way of knowing how he would react after a few days in the Arena. 

Someone dropped into the seat beside him—usually reserved for Elsa, but she was off catching an hour’s sleep. He glanced over quickly. 

“Hello, Ursula.”

“Hello, gorgeous,” Ursula said, mouthing a kiss at him with bright red lips. “And how’s your princess doing today?”

“She’s not my princess,” he said shortly, then wondered if his reply had maybe been too quick. By the way she smiled widely, he was afraid it might. 

“Interesting choice,” she said, leaning back in the chair. “Swapping mentors. Isn’t it a little strange that Elsa is choosing to mentor the boy, when she’s clearly wishing for her sister to win in the end?” 

Kristoff shrugged irritably. “There’s nothing inherently wrong about hoping for both your tributes,” he said. “The mentors who are alone from their district do it every year. And just because I’m working mainly for Anna’s survival, it doesn’t mean I wish for Adam to die, either. It’s the same with Elsa.”

He noticed her gleeful expression, and looked at her. “What?”

“ _Anna_ ,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him. “I like the way you say her name. Could you say my name like that?”

He turned away, annoyed, bur her hand shot out and grabbed his chin. She turned his face back towards her, her fingers holding him in place, uncomfortably intimate. 

“You should be careful,” she said, now serious. “It’s stupid to get too attached to them. Especially this one. She’s cute, yes, and she has sponsor goodwill on her side for the moment. But unless she starts spilling some blood, she won’t last to the end. And I think you know as well as I that that’s going to be a problem.”

He shrugged her off, frowning. “Shouldn’t you be tending to your own tribute, Ursula?” 

She shrugged. “Mags has it in hand for the moment,” she said, back to her laconic indifference. “Our boy was one of the first to bite it, so we’re sharing responsibility for Ariel. I have time for some fun on my own.”

She winked at him, heavy with insinuation. “If you should get off early, come and find me,” she said, heaving herself out of the chair again and smoothing her black velvet dress down over her hips. “I’d love to have a companion I can’t break like a twig for a change.”

She walked off, her hips swaying deliberately. Kristoff scowled after her. Although he knew most of the Career victors used their disinterest as a shield, hiding a hatred of the Games just as strong as his own, it always made him uncomfortable when mentors talked like this—like their tributes didn’t matter. It was an act, yes, but it was one that played all too well into the Capitol’s hands. 

For himself, he’d rather be compassionate and broken than distant and safe. 

He looked back at the screen. This year, though, he knew that he was indeed falling into the trap of caring too much about his tribute. Elsa claimed to be too emotional to make the right choices for Anna. What Kristoff feared was that he might not be much better himself.

* * *

The fourth day of the Hunger Games dawned just as bright as the previous three had been. Esmeralda shaded her eyes against the sunlight, squinting at the bright snow. Yesterday, she’d had a moment of true panic when she’d suddenly found herself unable to see. The sun on the snow had made her blind, and she had made camp underneath a fir tree for the night, lying with her face covered with snow and hoping against hope that it was temporary. When she woke this morning, it was the biggest relief of her life to stare up at the branches of the tree, her vision repaired again. But she knew now that she had to be careful, not to stare at the blinding snow too long. 

She blinked, then looked around again. She’d been tracking a set of footprints through the snow yesterday when the snow blindness struck, and now she was taking up the trail again. At the other end, there would be a tribute. A tribute who might have food, or weapons, or even sunglasses. She’d steeled herself from the start, knowing this moment would come sooner or later. If she wanted to get out of these Games, she would have to play by its rules. 

She reached a spot where the path branched off in three different directions, and for a few minutes she stood, uncertain of which way to go. Finally, she chose one at random and followed it, only to find after a long trek that the path ended suddenly and without warning, in the middle of a clearing. There were no trees nearby that could have offered the tribute another way forward. The path was a blind. 

Frustrated, she kicked up snow furiously. _Think_ , she told herself. One of those paths had to lead somewhere. The tribute who made them couldn’t have simply flown away. She’d just have to go back to where this path branched off and follow another one. 

She had come back and started following a new path when she heard a noise and spun, her knife already in her hand. It was one of the boys, the sweet-looking one from District Five—Hans or something—who had obviously been following the path, just like her. He was one of the larger tributes, not counting the Careers, but he’d seemed a little too gentle during Training Week to be a real threat. Esmeralda raised her knife higher, shifting her grip for a better angle of attack and taking a few steps towards him.

He didn’t look as intimidated as she’d thought. Instead, he planted his feet for better grip and drew a sword she hadn’t previously seen, raising it in front of his face. 

She should probably run from this. A sword had better range than her knife, and the boy had half a head on her. Still, she’d been fighting every day of her life, and this boy looked merchant soft. And besides, running had somehow never been an option. 

She ran at him, dodging under his sword and attempting a slash at stomach height. He twisted away with remarkable speed, however, kicking out with one foot and hitting her in the knee. She crumpled, but rolled, getting up on her feet again to face him. 

They circled each other, feinting and lunging, then stepping back out of reach. She was quickly coming to realise that he was better than he’d ever let on during Training Week. Then again, so was she. 

She ran at him again and slashed out with her knife, then stepped backwards out of reach again. As she did so, however, her foot slipped and she lost her balance, falling backwards. Immediately, he was there. With one hand, he grabbed her arm, halting her fall. With the other, he drove his sword into her stomach. 

She wasn’t even aware of the pain. All she could think of, as he let her fall to the ground, was Quasi. She would be leaving him alone after all. 

_I’m sorry_ , she thought, and then everything disappeared.

* * *

Anna almost fell out of her tree. A cannon. She’d almost forgotten what they sounded like. 

Another tribute had fallen, then. It meant the first since the bloodbath, and it was a chilling reminder that these Games were still active. She’d been so focused for the last couple of days on finding food and making her little camp secure, that she’d almost allowed herself to forget that other tributes out there would be hunting. 

A rushing noise made her look up, and she realised that a hovercraft was descending on the forest. That meant the fallen tribute was nearby. 

That also meant that whoever had killed them must be close by as well. 

She peered down as the hovercraft left again, making sure to stay hidden among the denser branches. Below, a figure trudged through the snow, a sword in their hand. It was impossible to tell who it was, though. With the heavy clothes, all identical, all tributes looked the same. 

The figure stopped, looking around, then sheathed the sword and raised their hands to their mouth. 

“Anna,” they called, not very loudly, but still loudly enough to carry to her. “Anna, are you there?”

Anna gasped, putting both hands over her mouth. It was Hans. 

She didn’t give herself time to think. Without hesitating, she climbed down her tree, dropping quickly from branch to branch. 

“Hans!” she said, when she was only a few feet from the ground. “Hans, I’m here!”

He turned towards her, and his face lit up with a brilliant smile. Hurrying towards her, he was right underneath her tree when dropped the last way down, and he caught her as she stumbled on her landing. 

“You’re safe,” he said, touching a hand to her face. “Oh, Anna, I’ve been so worried.”

“There was a cannon,” she said, not knowing how to ask the question. He was carrying a sword, after all. 

“I thought she’d hurt you,” he said, gripping her arms tightly. “I was so afraid, Anna. I thought—there was no cannon, of course, but I thought she might have attacked you and left you for dead. She was following your tracks. I was—I was afraid you were gone.”

She looked up at him. His face was worn, distraught. 

“You were looking for me?” she asked. “How did you know they were my tracks?”

He smiled at that. “I knew you were clever enough to lay false trails,” he said, “so when I came across these, I thought you might be close. And then I found a snare. It had a strand of hair caught in it.” He smiled, with one finger touching the lock of hair that always escaped, no matter how careful her braids. “Then I knew.”

Anna bit her lip, warmth flooding through her. He’d come for her. She wouldn’t have to do this alone any more.

“Hans,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He looked at her warmly, then pulled her closer in for a hug.

“Me, too,” he said. “I’m so glad, Anna.”


	4. Chapter Four

Aurora paced the field around the Cornucopia angrily, biting her lip in annoyance. It was now the afternoon of the seventh day of the games, and the alliance hadn’t had a single sponsor gift yet. And with Edward growing weaker by the day, they needed medicine, and fast. 

She thought she knew what the problem was, though. The alliance hadn’t made any kills since the bloodbath. If they didn’t start making their mark in these Games, they could kiss Edward’s chances goodbye. But she didn’t know what else she could do. She’d been out hunting every day, spending her every hour tracking footsteps and trying to find the other tributes. It should have been easier than this. This Arena was _made_ for tracking, with the snow showing up tracks beautifully. But the other tributes had proved annoyingly good at laying false trails and working around the problem of the snow. 

Aurora scowled. She blamed Anna Arendelle. The Snow Princess came from a district used to cold winters, after all, and despite the insistence that Elsa Arendelle wasn’t mentoring her sister, Aurora felt sure she had been sharing as many tips as she could. 

She feared that Anna was out there, building an alliance of her own, only waiting for her group to grow large enough before she attacked. Aurora _had_ to take her down. 

She stalked back to the Cornucopia’s mouth, where she and the rest of her alliance had made their camp. Edward was actually managing to sit up today, and was eating an apple that Ariel was cutting into quarters for him. Florian was sharpening a sword. Aurora walked over to the box where she kept her own stash of weapons and stopped, frowning. 

“Who’s taken my knife?” she asked. 

Florian looked up at her, raising his eyebrows. “Why would any of us take one of your knives?”

“I laid them all out last night after sharpening them,” Aurora said. “And now one of them is missing. Who took it?”

She looked around at the others. Ariel shook her head, puzzled. Edward rolled his eyes and gestured to the infested wound on his leg. Florian sighed, returning to his sword. 

“Come on, you probably just mislaid one,” he suggested. “We have more knives than we could ever need, anyway.”

“I didn’t mislay anything,” Aurora said between gritted teeth. “I sorted them last night, and the smallest one isn’t here any longer. If whoever took it won’t return it, how about I start taking your things?”

Edward rolled his eyes again. “How about you and your pathological need for control simmer down?”

Ariel smiled, and then as Aurora glared at both of them, sighed and stood up. Grabbing her set of spears, she put a hand above her eyes and looked around with comic exaggeration, then left. 

Florian stood up, too. “I’ll join Ariel on the hunt,” he said. “Have something to eat, Aurora. You hardly had anything for lunch.”

“That’s because _I’m_ trying to keep to our rations,” Aurora snapped. He made a face, and followed Ariel out. 

“You’re not making any friends right now,” Edward said, easing himself back down with a wince. She almost threw something at him, but he was already wounded and with only the four of them in the alliance, she couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.

“I’m trying to get us through this,” she said, “which is more than I can say for any of you. We had a rationing system. In this weather, we need to make sure we have enough to eat all the way through the Games. That means we can’t stuff ourselves now, when we don’t know how long this food will have to last. Especially if the sponsors are going to be stingy with their money.”

“You don’t have to treat us like children, Aurora,” he said, annoyed. “We all know that as well as you do.”

“Then why are we low on both bread and fruit? Someone has been eating outside the rations. We’re almost out of apples, for one thing.”

“Don’t ask me,” he said, shrugging. “I haven’t moved from this spot since the infection set in, so if you’re looking for a culprit, turn elsewhere.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. He was extremely pale, his skin unhealthily shiny, and his leg was looking terrible. If they didn’t get some help for him soon, that wound would without doubt turn septic. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly. He laughed shortly. 

“Really _not_ in the mood for a lecture about rations and missing weaponry,” he said. 

She frowned at him, but before she could reply, there was the sudden booming of a cannon. Aurora shot to her feet, staring out in the direction Florian and Ariel had gone. Had they finally managed to find another tribute? Maybe they would at last see some positive results. 

And then, as she was thinking with elation that they might finally get the medicine for Edward they needed so badly, she heard the whistle. 

The token Ariel had taken into the Games was a conch-shaped whistle hanging around her neck on a fine gold chain. She had made it clear to them before even the Games started that since she had no way of shouting for help, it would be her way of signalling for assistance. Aurora stared at Edward. 

“Go,” he said, waving a hand at her and reaching out for the crossbow he kept close to his bed. “Go, she needs you. I’ll be fine on my own.”

She nodded briskly, snatched up two of her knives and hurried towards the sound of the whistle. She was almost at the tree line when she saw the hovercraft descending, and by the time she reached the spot it was heading for, it had already found and picked up the body. 

It was Florian. Florian, from her own district. Aurora still remembered the first time she met him, during a knife fighting lesson when they were both twelve years old. Even then, he’d been effortlessly charming in the way that had eventually earned him his moniker in the Capitol. He’d been strong, too—a clear contender for the victor’s crown from the moment he entered the training programme back in District One. And now, he was just another fallen tribute.

She watched the hovercraft taking him away, noting the arrow sticking out of the front of his jacket. The girl from Twelve again, then. Merida DunBroch, the redhead with the stupid Twelve accent and the melodramatic speech pattern.

She ran onwards after the hovercraft had left, following the tracks of what must be Ariel. The tracks led her to a hill, where she eventually found Ariel herself, kicking a stone in evident rage. All her spears were gone, and when Aurora looked around, she found all three of them sticking in different trees a little further down. She turned back to Ariel, who mimed an archer and then gestured to show someone leaping from tree to tree. Finally she pointed away in one direction and then threw her hands up, turning away. As she stood with her back turned, her hands now clenched by her sides, Aurora could see her shaking. 

Aurora didn’t say anything, because she really didn’t feel like talking. Instead she climbed down and retrieved Ariel’s spears, then handed them to the girl and started walking back towards their camp. She’d known that Florian’s death was always going to happen. Since Aurora intended to be the one left standing when this was all over, of course Florian would have to die sometime. But this inglorious death, so unnecessary and sudden, was making her throat tight and her stomach hurt. 

When they got back, they were greeted by Edward, looking even worse than when she had left him. 

“While you were gone,” he said, pushing himself up on one elbow with a pained grimace, “I think I figured out our food problem. The boy from District Eleven was here. I was lying down, so I think he must have thought I was asleep. He was going through the box of fruit when I managed to get off a shot. I think I winged him, but he was off too quickly for me to be sure.” He frowned at them, then. “Where’s Florian?”

Ariel threw her spears down with a clang and walked off, kicking up snow angrily as she went. 

“Gone,” Aurora said. “The girl from Twelve again. We need to do something about her.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”

“His fault for not paying enough attention,” Aurora said. Somehow, it hurt to say it, and she turned away abruptly. “I’ll take the first guard shift tonight. And if that little rat from Eleven comes back to take our stuff, I’ll gut him.”

She watched Florian’s face in the sky that night, and when she was sure that both Ariel and Edward were asleep, allowed herself to cry for him, just for a minute. At midnight, she woke Ariel for her shift, and then drifted into an uneasy slumber, where Florian sat in the dining room back home in District One and laughed, an arrow sticking out of a spreading red patch on his chest. 

When she woke again, Ariel wasn’t there. And when Aurora read the message she had left printed into the snow, she realised that she wasn’t ever coming back.

* * *

“I must say,” Plinius said, “I am surprised. It appears this alliance was much more fragile than we anticipated.”

“Indeed,” Fauntleroy said, turning and gesturing towards the screen behind him, where Ariel could be seen trudging through the snow with a heavily laden backpack slung over her shoulder. “And if anyone, I would have thought it would be District One’s Aurora Briar who would break from the rest of the group. Her irritation with them has been increasingly clear for the last couple of days.”

“Then again, she’s now almost out of companions to be annoyed by,” Plinius said with a grin. “With District Four’s Ariel Andersen splitting off in order to be able to hunt more efficiently on her own—according to the message she left for her friends—we now have only two tributes remaining in the alliance. Our beautiful and deadly Aurora Briar, of course, and District Two’s Edward Tremaine, who’s been saddled with a really nasty wound. You really have to feel for the poor boy, don’t you?”

“So we have these two remaining at the Cornucopia, and Ariel heading off on her mission of vengeance,” Fauntleroy summed up. “Remember, all you watching at home, that Merida DunBroch of District Twelve has by this point killed off three of Ariel’s friends, including her district partner. I’m sure I wouldn’t want to be in Merida’s shoes when Ariel catches up with her!”

“And speaking of catching up,” Plinius said. “Let’s check in with a few of the tributes we haven’t seen much of lately. We looked in on the Beast and the Beauty yesterday, and found them still having quite a _cosy_ time of it over there in their cave. I don’t think they’d moved at all since we saw them last. Yes, that alliance seems to be holding up well—so far at least! But now, let’s see how Tiana Rose of District Eleven is doing…”

* * *

Tiana drew in a shaky breath, slapping her arms to get the blood flowing before reaching for a branch and starting to climb. 

For the last three days, she’d opted to sleep on the ground instead of nesting in some tree’s branches. She’d realised that making her camps in snow caves was actually warmer than anything else she’d found, with the air inside the cave warming quickly from her own body heat and creating an almost pleasant environment. Still, she had to take to the trees sometimes. Right now, it was because she had noticed another tribute’s tracks, fresh from that day, and she didn’t want to be caught on the ground while she slept. So for the few hours she was planning to give herself until nightfall—she preferred moving at night—she decided to perch in a pine tree, chewing on some pine needles to dull the ache in her stomach. 

Tiana was used to going hungry. It wasn’t unusual for her to go days without any proper meals back home. In this cold weather, however, she was burning a lot more energy. She’d managed to keep going so far on the provisions she’d managed to snag as she ran from the Cornucopia, tightly rationed, but for the last two days she’d eaten nothing but pine needles and bark. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go on like this indefinitely. She was in no danger of dehydration, not with the snow lying thick, but she would need to find food if she wanted to make it many more days. 

She slumbered lightly for an hour or two, dreaming of the orchards back home, sunny and warm and social. When she woke again, it was to find a parachute drifting lightly towards her. She looked around, trying to see if there were any other tributes nearby, but when it landed only a branch above her, she knew it must be meant for her. 

Attached to the parachute was a container, and when she opened it, her stomach growled so much in anticipation that it almost made her sick. For her first sponsor gift, they had sent her gumbo. 

She ate agonisingly slowly, knowing that her stomach wouldn’t be able to handle too much food in one go, and finished when there were still two thirds of the stew left. And then she remembered to look up, and smiled at the sky. 

“Could have used more garlic,” she said, grinning cheekily. “But a good effort.”

She tucked the container reverentially into her backpack and made sure it was secure. She had received a respite. Already she felt more alert. 

Tiana swung her way back to the ground and set off across the snow.

* * *

Hans picked up a roll of bread, breaking it in half and closing his eyes, breathing in the smell of wheat and rye. 

“Your sponsors sent you actual bread?” he said, looking reverent. Anna smiled. 

“Enjoy it,” she said. 

He shook his head immediately, handing it back to her. “It’s your bread. I couldn’t.”

She almost laughed, then. “They sent plenty for both of us,” she said. “And there’s a bit of dried fruit. And then there’s the rabbits I snared yesterday—do you think we could risk a fire?” 

Hans looked at her with a curious expression. She tucked her hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious. 

“What?”

He shook his head. “I’m just thinking how lucky I am that I found you again,” he said. “I was afraid you’d be in trouble. Instead, you’re the one taking care of me.”

She laughed, awkward. “I just know a little about snares, that’s all,” she said. 

“A little? You’re very good at them.” He leaned his head to one side. “Did your sister teach you?”

Anna tried to ignore the sting she felt at his words. It was hard to think of Elsa, sitting in the Capitol and worrying. “She didn’t want to talk to me about her Games at all,” she said. “It was too difficult for her. But we’ve had woodcraft as part of our upbringing, and we used to roam the forests together when we were little. And I learned snares and a little bit of hunting from—well, from others in our settlement.”

Kristoff, she thought, and found herself ridiculous for not wanting to say his name. But somehow, she wanted this moment to be between her and Hans, and saying another man’s name felt intrusive. 

It had been Kristoff who taught her snares, though. Anna had seen Elsa survive her Games by living off the land, and even though she had never actually thought she’d end up in the Arena herself, for the last two years or so she’d tried to absorb as much knowledge as she could. In part it was simply because she wanted to be as self-sufficient as she’d seen Elsa be, even though her life after Elsa’s win had been luxurious in the extreme—especially compared to how they’d lived before, two orphaned girls without any family to help them out. 

Elsa had wanted her to embrace her new rich life, but Anna hadn’t wanted to make herself entirely helpless, should disaster one day strike them again. So when Kristoff had become a part of their life—however reluctant that had been at first—she’d asked him to show her those things that her sister avoided. She was ever grateful to him for that. Their lessons, although he’d been a gruff and short-spoken teacher, had given her at least a feeling of independence. And she’d become quite good at snaring small game, something that had proven extremely useful in this Arena. 

She looked up from her thoughts to find Hans looking at her with a slight smile on his face. 

“What?” she said again. 

“You are so much better than you think you are,” he said, and she felt her face grow hot as he reached over to take her hand. “Now, what was that last gift you received?” 

She looked into the thermos that had come with the bread and fruit. “Some hot drink,” she said, sniffing. “Oh, it smells wonderful.”

“It’s a feast, then,” Hans said. He moved closer to her, seating himself so that their shoulders were touching. “I thought we ought to keep each other warm as much as possible,” he added with a quick grin when she looked at him, raising her eyebrows. She grinned back at him, moving even closer in her turn.

“Good thinking,” she said, tucking one arm under his.

* * *

A hint of love really was a way to the sponsors’ hearts, Rapunzel thought. In the six days since she and Mulan had joined forces, they’d built up a slow romance by looks and touches and hand-holding. It had taken a little time to convince Mulan of the idea, but once she’d accepted Rapunzel’s plan, she’d been very good at pretending interest, and the sponsor gifts had been quick in coming. Both Rapunzel and Mulan now had gloves to protect their hands, and their hunting had been made much easier by it. Yesterday, they had brought down a deer together—Rapunzel lassoing it from a distance and Mulan delivering the final blow once it was downed. The dinner yesterday had been nothing short of glorious. 

Afterwards, they’d huddled close together for warmth, looking deeply into each other’s eyes and whispering, as if sharing sweet romantic nothings. 

Those sweet nothings, too soft to be caught on camera, had in fact been an opportunity to learn more about each other. Rapunzel had been curious from the start about how Mulan had managed her deception. 

_“My brother’s sick,” she whispered. “When they called his name, I just stepped forward in his place. He wasn’t quick enough to stop me. And my—my friend helped hold him back.”_

_She looked so grimly sad, then. Rapunzel wondered about that friend—if there was someone waiting for her back home. Someone who now had to watch her flirt with a strange girl. She felt something almost like shame, but then—they had to survive, that was all._

_“I don’t think my parents realised until I was already up on that stage,” Mulan continued, “and by then it was too late. There would only have been trouble for everyone if they’d protested. It was the same with the Capitol stylist team. They didn’t know what to do about me, and they were afraid they’d get in trouble if they let on that I was a girl, so in the end they just let me go on as a boy. I think they were expecting me to die at the bloodbath, to be honest.”_

Rapunzel twisted her braid up on top of her head and secured it with an elastic. She was heading off on her own to check on a snare she’d set up, while Mulan roasted and packed the last of the meat for their continued journey. 

“See you soon,” she said, slinging her rope over one shoulder. Mulan looked up and nodded. 

“Be careful,” she said, reaching out and catching Rapunzel’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. 

Rapunzel smiled to herself as she walked towards her snare. From the start, hers and Mulan’s relationship had been one of barely overcome hostility, and they’d been too wary of each other for there to be any trust. Over the last few days, however, matching the pace of their fake romance, they’d slowly become closer. They’d shared stories of their home districts, Mulan talking about her father’s sword training and Rapunzel telling her about Pascal, and they’d hunted together, learning more about each other’s skill as they went. Rapunzel would call Mulan a friend now. It was nice. 

Suddenly she stopped, coming out of her thoughts with a start. In front of her, she could hear the sound of someone moving through snow, coming from behind a thicket of junipers some yards ahead of her. She looked around quickly, but she was in a cleared space in the forest, with no immediate hiding place. She’d have to fight. She planted her feet and squared her shoulders, readying her lasso. With luck, she could disable the tribute from a distance and get away quickly, taking to the trees or something before the tribute got free. She had a knife that Mulan had given her, but she really didn’t want to use it. 

The junipers rustled and parted. Rapunzel was in mid-swing before she recognised the form. 

“Eugene?”

“Whoa!” he shouted, throwing his hands up. She’d jerked her rope back the moment she saw his face, and it landed a few feet in front of him harmlessly, but he still flinched as though she’d hit him. “Rapunzel? Were you going to _lasso_ me?”

She smiled faintly. “You told me to disable, not kill,” she said, looping her rope back over her shoulder and walking towards him. “I found a way to do it.”

“You could have fooled me,” he said, rubbing at his neck. “I thought you were going to strangle me.”

She stopped in front of him. In reality, she longed to reach out and hug him, but she thought it might shock him too much. Besides, she knew she was only overreacting to the relief of seeing someone she trusted, instead of the dangerous Career she’d been fearing. She knew that Eugene was no killer. She’d seen him run at the Cornucopia, not even stopping to pick up a knife. 

“How have you been?” she said. 

“Oh, you know,” he said, shrugging in an attempt at looking casual. “I was never that good at woodcraft. I’ve had to rely on my smoulder. But it’s fine. The sponsors love me, you know.” 

She looked him over, unconvinced. He looked a whole lot thinner than he’d been when she saw him last, and his hair hung lank across his forehead. 

“Oh, yes,” he said, as though he could sense her scepticism. “They sent me a whole roll of bread, what—three days ago? I’m still full.”

He grinned at her, and for a moment it was the same Eugene she’d known back during Training Week. Then his expression changed as he looked at something over her shoulder, and he stepped back, raising his hands. 

“Rapunzel!”

She spun around. Mulan was bearing down on them, her sword raised over her head. Rapunzel gasped, throwing herself in front of Eugene. 

“Mulan, no!” she shouted. “He’s a friend! He wasn’t hurting me. Eugene’s on our side.”

Mulan stopped. “A _friend_?” she said, disbelief apparent. 

“Well, I’d sure love to be your friend, because the alternative is really, really frightening,” Eugene said, stepping out cautiously from behind Rapunzel and making as if to extend a hand, but then changing his mind. “I’m Flynn, hi, how are you doing? Apart from the whole threat of imminent death, but you know, actually, you seem to have that one in hand.”

Mulan frowned. “Flynn? Rapunzel called you Eugene.”

“Yeah, well, she seems to have special names for everyone. Doesn’t she, _Ping_?” 

Rapunzel glanced at him, seeing the questioning way he was looking at Mulan, and hastened to smile disarmingly. 

“How about we all just take it easy?” she said. “I’d like him to come with us, Ping. He knows about things, and he could be helpful. And I think _we_ could help _you_ … Flynn.” He raised his eyebrows at her, and she smiled again. “We have food?”

Both of the other two stared at each other for a while, challenging, and then Eugene rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, fine,” he said. “Why not.”

Mulan looked more hesitating, but when Rapunzel gave her a meaningful look, she relented. “Sure,” she said, her voice back into her gruff “Ping” tones. “Just try not to get in our way, then.”

She put an arm around Rapunzel’s shoulder, possessive, making her double meaning clear, and Eugene glared at her. 

“Yay, team-up,” Rapunzel said, with some hesitation.


	5. Chapter Five

Belle looked up at the sky as the anthem played. No deaths today either. This night was the tenth since the Games had begun, and since the first day’s bloodbath, there had only been two deaths. She was glad, of course, but watching the Games had taught her that too long without blood would mean the Capitol getting restless. 

She smiled as Adam entered the cave, carrying a parachute in one hand. 

“Sponsor gifts?” she asked. “I’m surprised we’re still getting them. This—this late in the game, I mean.”

What she really meant was more complex. She knew that she and Adam couldn’t be the most interesting tributes out there. They hadn’t moved since they had found their cave, and they’d spent their time simply hiding, emerging only seldom to gather food. 

“I think it’s because of Elsa Arendelle,” Adam said, his tone gruff in the way it always was when he talked about his mentor. Belle knew that he trusted her, but not fully. She could understand that. It must be difficult to believe that your own mentor’s loyalties lay more fully elsewhere. “The sponsors send money to the district, not the individual tribute. And Elsa Arendelle wouldn’t want people to think she was giving her sister favours. I suspect they’re splitting the take evenly between the two of us.”

Belle nodded. For herself, she’d yet to be sent anything. She’d always known she wouldn’t have any big chances of gaining sponsors. She had no obvious skills that would make anyone pick her out as a possible victor, and with the amount of other tributes pulling off interesting personas, she knew she wouldn’t stand out.

Joining up with Adam had given her a taste of what sponsor support looked like, though. They’d been sent fruit and vegetables to supplement the meat Belle managed to snare, and the day before yesterday, Adam had received matches when the fire was unusually difficult to start. 

Adam looked through the container. “Bread and butter this time,” he said. “Do we have anything left of the rabbit?”

“Enough for a night meal,” Belle said, putting another couple of branches on the fire. “I’ll go and empty my traps again tomorrow.”

“You still have to teach me how you do those,” he said, smiling at her. “Mine never turn out right.”

She smiled back at him, feeling a little flutter in the pit of her stomach. “Beast” was such a misnomer, she thought. As the days had passed, she’d realised what a thoroughly sweet boy he was, and his smiles, although rare, now always made her wish she could just lean in and meet them with her own mouth. 

Confused, she poked more vigorously at the fire to distract herself. Adam handed her a buttered slice of bread, and she dug into it with pleasure. Butter was a luxury she and her father had almost never afforded back home. 

“I can take first watch,” Adam said once they had finished off their meal. “I’ll wake you once the moon reaches the ridge.”

She accepted and curled up by the fire, resting her head on her arm and looking up at him where he sat in the cave mouth. He was sitting cross-legged, his elbows resting on his knees, his broad shoulders hunched. The firelight played on his hair, picking out all the different shades of brown and gold. 

As if he could sense her looking at him, he turned and looked at her. 

“I don’t have any stories for you, sorry,” he said, grinning momentarily. She smiled back. For the nights when she took first watch, she usually told District Three fables in a soft tone until he’d fallen asleep. It was something her father had done for her, when she was little. It made her long for home desperately, but at the same time, it was somehow comforting to her. 

“I’ll just have to go straight to sleep, then,” she said, and it wasn’t long until she did. 

She woke to him shaking her. He had his tiger claw clutched in one hand, and the tight, wary expression on his face frightened her. 

“Belle!” he hissed. “Something is here. It’s some kind of animal. Get up, please! Hurry!”

She scrambled to her feet, her heart beating hard enough to hurt. He shoved his knife into her hand and grabbed one of the branches from the fire, creeping towards the cave entrance. She snatched up a branch of her own and joined him. 

For a moment, she couldn’t see anything, her eyes still adjusting. Then, she swept her branch from side to side slowly, and drew in breath in a gasp. Beside her, Adam made a noise of futile anger. 

Before them was a large pack of animals. Belle thought normal wolves at first, but then she saw the too-intelligent, glowing eyes and the unnaturally large teeth, and knew that they were Capitol muttations. That meant that they couldn’t be intimidated like other animals—they’d have a drive to kill, not just to eat. 

“Be careful, Belle,” Adam said tightly. “Use the firebrand to keep them back. If they get close, go for the eyes.”

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak. Slowly, they both moved closer to each other until they stood, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the advancing creatures. 

“I’m glad it was you,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word. “I’m so happy I met you, Belle.”

She nodded again, forcing saliva into her mouth. “Me too,” she managed in a strangled kind of voice, then drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Adam, I think I love you.”

When she opened her eyes again, he was smiling at her, not a trace of the beast left. He touched her hand with his, linking their little fingers together for a moment. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she—nothing more needed to be said. 

The first mutt leapt.

* * *

Anna started awake. 

“What was that?” she whispered, looking up at the form of Hans silhouetted against the starry night sky. 

“Cannons,” he said, his voice soft. “Two of them, I think—they were very close together.”

She stood up and joined him, linking her arm with his. “Were they nearby?”

“I don’t think so. Haven’t seen any hovercrafts.”

They stood together for some time, looking out over the forest. Then Anna shivered, pulling the zipper of her jacket up more tightly. Hans looked at her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“You should go back to sleep,” he said, nodding towards the shelter they’d made out of fir branches. She shook her head. 

“I’m too awake now,” she said, pulling her hat more firmly onto her head. In the night, its bright colour wouldn’t be a problem in the same way it was in daylight. “I’ll take over the watch. You sleep.”

He looked as though he might argue, but then he yawned, looking sheepish when she laughed at him. 

“Fine,” he said, holding up his hands in submission. “But wake me if there’s any trouble.”

She glanced back at him after a few minutes, finding him fast asleep already. 

They wouldn’t be able to go on like this for ever. If they made it to the top six or seven or so, they’d have to split up. She didn’t want to have to fight him. 

Still, although these two deaths had brought that day uncomfortably closer, she hoped it was still some time away.

* * *

Mulan looked over at Flynn and Rapunzel, sitting and talking by the fire. As she watched, Flynn said something and shrugged in a self-deprecating sort of way, and Rapunzel laughed. Mulan rolled her eyes, then returned to her work. She was gutting a rabbit that Rapunzel had caught earlier that day, preparing it for dinner. They were camping next to a frozen-over lake, and had decided to risk a proper fire for the night; with the open expanse all around them, they would see anyone long before they came close enough to be a threat.

Several days had passed since Flynn had joined them, and it was becoming more and more obvious to Mulan that her and Rapunzel’s fake romance was increasingly threatened by a more real one. It wasn’t totally bad for them, however. The Capitol audience must be loving this, only waiting for a testosterone-fuelled match between the two rivals for Rapunzel’s affection. Not that there was any contest, of course, but they couldn’t know that. 

Rapunzel clearly hadn’t thought this through, though. From the start, Mulan had thought that it was just an infatuation. Stupid, of course, but understandable—now that Flynn was no longer looking half-starved, Mulan conceded that he was quite handsome in a pretty, well-chiselled kind of way. But after watching the two of them lately, Mulan was coming to believe there was real affection there on both sides. And that would be dangerous for Rapunzel, in the long run. In the Arena, you needed to be able to discard any alliances you formed. 

She looked over towards the fire again, and then bent to rinse her knife in a hole she’d made in the ice. Seeing her own reflection staring back at her from the water, she had to allow that she wasn’t in a position to judge. She hadn’t exactly thought things through, either. For the first part of the Games, she’d focused only on survival, never looking further ahead than the day’s end. Now, however, as they were coming up on two weeks in the Arena, she was starting to think about what would happen next. 

She had gone to the Reaping dreading to hear her brother’s name. The sickness that had eaten into his lungs had been bad enough by that point that he could no longer walk without a cane, and his coughing kept them awake every night. She’d expected the worst and prepared for it, dressing in similar clothes and putting her hair in the same kind of ponytail as he preferred, and when Ping’s name was called, she was already walking forward before the echo from the microphone had stopped rolling. Her brother, weak and slow, hadn’t been able to stop her. And Shang had been there, too, holding him back and shutting him up. 

_Shang_. Thinking about him hurt. Because what would she do, if she managed to get through this? Passing as Ping at the reaping had been easy. Keeping the charade up so far had been harder. But if she got out, became the victor—that would be when the real challenge started. Would she have to be Ping for the rest of her life? How long could she keep the lie going? And could Shang settle for living the lie with her? 

Frustrated, she plunged her knife into the water and watched the water turn red. Her reflection was gone. 

She’d just have to wait and see if she could ever recognise herself in it again.

* * *

One of the many things Elsa hated about the Capitol was the way there were screens everywhere. She could never be free from the Games here. Even in the bathroom, there were small screens shoving text updates in her face as she washed her hands: _# Ping or Flynn—who will District Eight’s Rapunzel choose? # Bets for the top ten still accepted! # Who has the odds in their favour? Call in and tell us why YOUR tribute will be the winner._

Elsa shivered, pulling her gloves back on quickly and squeezing her hands together to stop the shaking. When her hands were wet like this, it was harder than usual not to see them covered with the blood of fellow tributes. 

The door opened, and Alida from District Six stumbled in. It was a little before noon, and she was already on her way to truly drunk. Still, she was better than Elsa had seen her previous years—one of her tributes was still alive, and she was obviously making an effort. When she had no tributes to take care of, Alida spent every day in a permanent morphling haze, barely able to communicate. 

“Something’s up,” she mumbled now, pointing a finger back over her shoulder. “A fight, I think.”

Elsa felt her throat tighten. She managed a nod and hurried out. 

“There’s fire in our snow landscape tonight!” she heard a commentator’s gleeful voice exclaim, as she entered the mentor’s longue again. Most mentors were on their feet, clustering around different screens. Elsa looked immediately for Kristoff, but when he met her eyes and shook his head, she let out the breath she’d been holding since she’d come in. 

“Who?” she asked, slipping into the seat beside him. 

“Ariel from Four and Haymitch’s girl Merida,” he muttered. “It’s come to a showdown.”

Elsa looked up at the Seven screens, and when she found Anna up there in a completely different part of the Arena, smiling at Hans as though they hadn’t a trouble in the world, she felt her whole body relaxing. 

“It might be bad,” Kristoff said quietly, still staring at the two red-haired figures on the main screen, one chasing after the other. 

“Neither of them are cruel,” Elsa said. 

“No, but they’re both angry. And it’s spears against arrows. Long-distance. This could take time.”

Elsa twisted her fingers tighter together, the feel of the fabric against her skin doing little to soothe her. She remembered, still, the feeling of an arrow piercing her leg—the numbing pain, the certainty that this meant death, and after she’d somehow managed to escape, the fever dreams. 

Sometimes, she thought she could feel it still, even though she knew that the Capitol doctors had done their usual magic on all her wounds. 

She gave her attention back to the main screen. On smaller screens on either side were the statistics that would be overlaid for the Capitol audience—the numbers of kills per tribute, their original training scores, and their current ranking in the constantly updating betting stats. 

Elsa shook her head, trying to shut out the callous numbers, and tried to concentrate on the battle unfolding in front of her. The two girls had reached an open expanse, and Merida, who had been running and ducking around the trees in the forest, now spun back towards her pursuer, letting an arrow fly as she fell and rolled backwards. The arrow, badly aimed in her haste, only grazed Ariel’s shoulder, but it was enough to throw Ariel off balance. She stumbled, stepped sideways and slipped in the snow, falling to her knees.

They were both on their feet again quickly, Merida with an arrow nocked to her string and Ariel with a spear ready to throw. And then they froze, locked in a stand-off, staring at each other across the distance—each waiting for the other to make the first mistake. With the sun glittering on the snow beneath their feet and bringing out the fiery red in their hair, it was a beautiful tableau. Elsa hated the pretty picture it made. This would be one of the outstanding moments of these Games, played over and over again in recaps. Two girls on fire, battling in snow. She could hear Caesar Flickerman’s glib comments already. 

“There’s something wrong with Merida’s leg,” she said. Kristoff nodded. 

“She ran into a bear two days ago,” he said. “You were off sleeping at the time. She twisted her ankle when she ran from it. She managed to kill it, though.”

Ariel had to see the way the girl was favouring her left leg, too. She would be trained, after all—quick to notice weaknesses and know how to exploit them. Still, as the camera zoomed in on each tribute in turn, Elsa realised that Merida was getting ready to move to her left, onto her bad leg. She knew what Ariel was planning. 

And then it happened. Ariel’s weight shifted to her right. Merida threw herself left to mirror her, releasing her arrow. But Ariel’s move had been a feint, and she was already moving back left, out of the way of the arrow’s path. She drew back her arm, and before Merida had time to reach for another arrow, threw her spear. 

Elsa turned away. Behind her, she heard the commentators cheering on screen, and then the boom of a cannon.

Kristoff laid his hand on her shoulder, and she almost flinched away from him. 

“At least it was quick,” he said. She nodded mutely. She knew she should be grateful for that. Last year, the boy from One had been a sadistic monster, making each of his victims’ deaths play out slowly. Elsa tried not to be happy over any tribute’s death, but when he’d finally fallen to Astrid Hoffersen, she’d drawn a sigh of deep relief. 

Ursula sashayed past, stopping to look back at them with one hip outthrust and her arms crossed. 

“That’s the top ten, then,” she said, pursing her lips. “Poor, unfortunate souls, eh?”

“Gloating over your tribute’s kills is a little in bad taste, don’t you think?” Kristoff said coolly. She rolled her eyes. 

“I call it being pragmatic,” she said. “But I wasn’t talking about the dead girl. At least _she’s_ out of it.”

She gave them a look and walked off, and Elsa felt the panic squeeze her chest again. 

“Calm down,” Kristoff said quickly. “She’ll be fine. Anna will be OK. We’ll get her out, and we’ll take care of her.”

Elsa nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Getting out of the Arena was only the start of it, after all. Still, she thought, she’d managed to claw her way back. Anna had been the biggest part of that. If Elsa could only get Anna back, maybe she could do the same in her turn. 

If she could only get her back.

* * *

Aurora heard the cannon as she was making it back to the Cornucopia after a hunting trip. It had been unsuccessful, just as all the ones before it had been. She couldn’t venture further than a day’s roundtrip from the Cornucopia, since she had to take care of Edward still, and there didn’t seem to be any tributes remaining within that distance. Today, she’d taken an even shorter trip than usual, heading out just before dawn and returning now at noon. 

As she got closer to the Cornucopia, she saw something shining in the sky above it. Shading her eyes with her hand, she looked up—and then, as she saw it for what it was, began running to intercept it. 

She snatched the parachute from the sky and opened the canister eagerly. As she’d so desperately hoped, they’d finally received the medicine for Edward. That had to mean that another high-ranking tribute had been killed, opening up sponsor goodwill towards the remaining alliance. Perhaps it was even the Twelve girl—if the biggest threat to the alliance so far had fallen, that could certainly explain why the sponsors might have found it in themselves to support her and Edward again. 

She ran the last distance to the Cornucopia, panting. 

“Edward!” she called. “Edward, I have—” 

She could see at once that something was wrong. He looked much, much worse than he’d been when she left that morning. His face was deathly pale, covered in sweat and twisted into a grimace of pain. 

“I have your medicine,” she said, sinking down onto her knees beside him and fumbling for his water bottle. 

His face twisted further, in what might be agony and what might be an attempt at a smile. “I think it might be too late for that,” he forced out. 

“Just take it,” she said, handing him the canister and the water bottle. “Edward, please.”

He groaned and accepted, swallowing the pills with another grimace and lying back again. He sighed. 

“Well, the pain is a little better,” he said after a while, and then his eyes closed slowly. 

Aurora sat next to him, taking his wrist in her hand with regular intervals. His rapid pulse seemed to be slowing somewhat, at least, and that was a good sign. Maybe, with time, the infection could be treated. And then, as she was holding his hand in hers, Edward gave a great gasp and went completely still. 

For a second, Aurora refused to even acknowledge what had happened. Then she heard the cannon shot. 

“NO!” she screamed, punching the closest crate in rage. They had been so close. If that sponsor gift could have come just one day earlier… 

She sat for a long time, holding Edward’s hand in hers, even though she knew she ought to move away and give the hovercraft time to pick him up. But she was alone now. Somehow, she’d never thought it would be like this. 

Finally she let his hand drop, pushing back her hair from her face. She wouldn’t let Edward’s death be entirely in vain. Taking out her throwing knives, she flicked Edward’s blanket aside, holding her breath against the stench of his infected leg, and then wiped each of her knives against his wound. She had to steel herself to do it, fighting against the part of her that insisted it was disrespectful. Edward would want her to have every edge she could. 

After stowing her knives back in their bandolier, she packed two bags with all the supplies she thought she would need and then left without looking back. She could hear the hovercraft arriving behind her, but didn’t turn to watch it. She’d said goodbye to Edward, and the Cornucopia had played out its role for her. 

She wouldn’t be returning.

* * *

Anna and Hans had spent the day foraging, gathering rosehips and burdock roots and digging up nettle leaves from beneath the snow. There had been no luck with the traps today, and the last sponsor gift had been several days ago, so it would have to be a gatherer’s dinner today. Anna was making the most of it, boiling up the roots in a sponsor canister filled with melted snow. The little fire was a risk, of course, but it didn’t smoke much. And they needed the heat. 

Hans was off by himself for a moment’s privacy, so it was with only her thoughts for company that Anna sat, stirring her little pot absentmindedly. She wondered what Elsa and Kristoff were doing. She knew how much they both hated being in the Capitol—every year after she came back from mentoring in the Games, Elsa would be withdrawn and jumpy for days, and Kristoff usually disappeared into the woods with Sven for a week or so. And this year, it must be even worse. 

There was a noise behind her, and she spun, raising the knife she always held in one hand when Hans wasn’t by her side and knocking the canister off the fire in her haste. Her heart racing, she stared at the boy who was standing a few feet away from her, one hand reaching for the little pile of rosehips lying in a container of their own. It was Aladdin from District Eleven—rather small and skinny, he’d proven to be a light-footed thief during training week. The Arena hadn’t been kind to him, though. He was even skinnier than he’d been going in, and one sleeve of his white snow jacket was torn and filthy with what looked like old blood. His light feet were obviously tired, too. The boy Anna had seen in the Training Center would never have given himself away like that. 

They stared at each other in silence, frozen—she with her knife held out in a trembling fist, he with his hand halfway to the food. Finally, he began straightening up slowly, and Anna started to relax. Maybe he’d just leave. He was a thief, after all, not a killer. 

The knife spun through the air in a deadly circle and stuck, with a sickening thud, in Aladdin’s chest. His mouth opened, but he made no sound—only looked down at the knife in disbelief. He raised one hand, as if to grip the knife, and then his hand fell back down to his side and he toppled backwards slowly. 

For a moment, it almost looked as if he smiled. 

The cannon fired as he hit the ground, and Anna spun back to see Hans, standing a few feet away. He’d been reaching for his sword, but was relaxing his fingers again. 

“You killed him!” she exclaimed, feeling the tears start in her eyes. There had been something so brilliantly alive and impish about Aladdin. She couldn’t believe that it could be snuffed out that easily. 

Hans straightened up, frowning. “I thought he was going to hurt you, Anna.”

“He was just standing there!” she shouted. “He only wanted food! He would never have hurt me—he didn’t even have a weapon!”

“I didn’t have time to check!” he shouted back. “If I’d stopped to do an inventory, he might have killed you before I was sure. Anna, I was trying to save you!”

She stared up at him, then rubbed her hand across her eyes angrily. The shock of the death had hit her like a punch in the stomach. Apart from the bloodbath, which still didn’t feel entirely real in its nightmarish fury, she’d never seen someone die in front of her before. She looked back at the body and then away, sick at the sight.

Hans walked towards her slowly, his hands held up placatingly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I must have shocked you. But Anna—sooner or later, you know that people will have to die if we are to survive this.”

She rubbed her hands over eyes again and nodded dumbly. She’d always known that. But knowing it and seeing it done were two very different things. 

“Sorry I yelled at you,” she managed. He put a hand on her shoulder. 

“You never have to apologise to me.”

They sat like that for a while, and then Hans shook himself. “We need to move,” he said. “The hovercraft will want to pick him up, and when they do, the other tributes will guess there is someone else here. We should take the food and go make a new camp further away.”

She agreed, gathering up all the provisions around her. Hans walked over to the body, picking up the canisters of food and then paused, looking down at the corpse. As she looked at him, he stretched a hand out and, after a moment’s hesitation, pulled the knife out of Aladdin’s chest. 

That hesitation made her happy. She’d been frightened of the focused Hans who’d thrown the knife, goal-oriented and cool and thinking only of hitting his mark. This Hans, who saw the boy instead of the target, was the one she knew and trusted. 

They moved quickly away, hearing the rush of the hovercraft behind them when they’d passed over a ridge. They kept walking for another half hour and then made their new camp, well hidden in a thicket of firs, dining on food that now felt too thick in Anna’s mouth. For every rosehip she swallowed, she saw Aladdin’s thin, brown hand reaching for the fruits—the skin blistering with cold sores, the fingernails ragged. She wondered if she’d ever be able to forget the sight. 

“I’ll take first watch,” she volunteered, as soon as the anthem had played them into the night and the sky had shown them Aladdin’s face one last time. “I—I don’t think I can sleep yet.”

Hans looked at her with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Anna,” he said. She shook her head. 

“You did what you had to,” she said. “Sleep well, Hans.”

She waited until his breaths were even and regular, and then shouldered her backpack. In the snow outside their shelter, she printed the message IT’S GETTING TOO CLOSE TO THE END NOW ANYWAY. GOOD-BYE. 

Hans had said _if we are to survive this_ , but that was never going to happen. There was never going to be _we_ , once the end came. It was better to leave now, hoping they wouldn’t meet again. 

And if she left now, she wouldn’t have to see him kill again, either.

* * *

Tiana moved carefully through the forest, flitting from tree to tree and stopping often to listen for any suspicious sounds. She’d seen the dangerous District One girl go past her two days ago when she was perched in a tree for a meal, and when the girl hadn’t returned by nightfall and the District Two boy’s face had shown in the sky as one of the fallen tributes, Tiana had put two and two together and realised that the camp back at the Cornucopia might have broken up for good. Today, when she still hadn’t seen any signs that the One girl was returning, she had decided to take at the look at the Cornucopia herself and had headed off as soon as dusk fell. 

With the care she was taking, she moved slowly. By dawn, she reached the edge of the clearing where the Cornucopia was placed and clambered up into a tree to watch, deciding to give it at least half a day to be certain that it was completely deserted. She chewed bark as she waited, pressing a hand to her stomach to try and calm the hunger. It had been a long time since the last meal. 

Noon came and went, and by late afternoon, she still hadn’t seen any movement by the Cornucopia. She decided to go for it. She needed food somehow, after all. The risk she took now was a necessary one if she wanted to live past the next couple of days. 

Running across the clearing was the worst part. She felt naked and exposed, completely defenceless. But she made it to the Cornucopia safely, and once there, she couldn’t stop her tears. The One girl hadn’t even bothered to destroy the supplies before she left. There was food here—not much, true, but enough to last Tiana quite a long time on her short rations. 

“Thank you,” she said, hugging one of the backpacks to her. “Whatever star is watching over me—thank you, thank you, thank you.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame my sister for some of the deaths in this chapter. She's a terryifying muse.

The forest was quiet and serene. Rapunzel sighed slowly, watching her breath misting in the air and smiling to herself. She had always loved snow—or the idea of it, at least. It snowed very seldom back in District Eight, and never enough to cause this kind of magical, frozen landscape. She bent to pick up a handful of snow and then opened her fingers, letting the powdery flakes feather out behind her as she walked. 

It was nice, being out alone. Their food supplies had been running low, and she, Mulan and Eugene had headed out to gather what they could, covering more ground by travelling separately. Rapunzel was checking up on snares, stopping every now and again to scrape away the snow to check for edible plants. Sometimes, you could find dandelions or nettles or even wild garlic, waiting under the snow for spring to come. That was true even in this Gamemaker-manufactured Arena. 

Her first two snares had been empty, so she had little hope for the third. Sure enough, when she reached it, she found it just as empty as the other two. This one been sprung, though, so she reset it and got ready to move on to the fourth. 

Something made her tense, taking her lasso from her shoulder. When the form dropped on her from above, she was ready and rolled away from her attacker—although the sharp pain in one shoulder showed that she hadn’t been quite quick enough. 

She didn’t wait to see who or what was attacking her or to check her shoulder; she just ran, as fast as she could, ducking around the nearest tree and sprinting onwards, weaving between tree trunks to throw off her attacker’s aim. Something whistled past her as she ran—a knife of some sort, she thought. 

She knew this part of the Arena. There was a sloping ridge up ahead, with a sheer cliff face on the other side, and there was a strong tree standing just before the cliff fell away. If she could just make it there… 

As she reached the top of the ridge, she threw her rope over a branch in mid stride. She caught and gripped both ends of the rope and swung away in the next second, leaping into the void. As she threw herself out into the air, stinging pain in her calf and back made her cry out. She let her hands slide down the rope, using the speed of the swing to bring her out into the air, away from the cliff face. Then as the rope snapped and arced, swinging her back in towards the cliff again, she let go and fell the last distance to the ground below. 

She landed hard, knocking the breath out of her body, but struggled to her feet quickly and yanked on the rope to bring it snaking down towards her. She just had time to see the face of the District One girl peering over the edge of the cliff before she picked up her rope and ran. 

The District One girl wouldn’t come after her. It would take too long to scale that cliff safely. Still, she had already proven that it was a bad idea to be within throwing distance of her, and Rapunzel ran on for several minutes before she felt safe enough to stop and check over her injuries. 

There was a stab wound in her shoulder, and she had a small cut in her calf. Her back had a similarly shallow wound. Throwing knives, Rapunzel supposed. Her thick clothes had gone some way towards protecting her, and the wounds would heal quite easily with time. Her shoulder was worse—the pain was making it hard for her to use her left arm. Thankfully, her throwing arm was still unscathed. 

She needed to get back to Mulan and Eugene. For now, she bound up her shoulder clumsily with a strip of cloth from her backpack, but she would need more advanced medical skill soon. Wincing at the pain in her calf, she set off towards their rendezvous point. They were supposed to be meeting in the early afternoon anyway, and from here it would take her some time to get there. She needed to warn them about the girl from One, too. 

She trudged through the forest, no longer charmed by the glittering snow and the quiet peace. Her shoulder started burning badly after about an hour, so she stopped to put a snow coat on it before walking onwards. 

Noon had come and gone and she was almost at the rendezvous point when she heard a scream. It was Eugene. 

Rapunzel ran forward, the pain forgotten. She crashed into the clearing that was supposed to be their meeting point, and saw the District One girl kneeling above a form in the snow. She didn’t hesitate. Her lasso was leaving her hand before she’d even run a step further. It fell around the District One girl’s neck, and Rapunzel yanked back hard, pulling her off Eugene. 

The District One girl had obviously heard her coming, because she’d had time to throw up an arm against her neck as some protection from the rope. As Rapunzel dragged her backwards, she was still breathing and kicking, scrabbling in her jacket for a knife with the hand not caught by the lasso. Rapunzel kicked her hand away, then stepped hard on it. The girl screamed. 

“You little bitch!” she shrieked, straining against the rope around her neck. “You think you’re going to survive this? You’re dying already, just like him. My daggers were poisoned.”

For a moment, Rapunzel just stared at her. As though only waiting for that statement, the pain in her shoulder returned tenfold, and she gritted her teeth against it. She drew her own knife and then, as the girl's eyes widened, leant down and hit her hard in the temple with the handle. As the girl slumped, Rapunzel let the rope fall onto her and ran towards Eugene. 

Eugene was lying back with his face twisted in pain, holding both hands to his stomach. His jacket was soaked with blood, and there was a long-bladed knife lying next to him. 

“Eugene,” Rapunzel said, sinking to her knees beside him. “Eugene, please talk to me.”

He looked up at her. “Not like this,” he said, shaking his head. “Rapunzel, it hurts so much.”

She could barely see him through the tears, but she made herself smile. “I know,” she said. “But not for long.” 

She pushed the knife lying beside him into his hands and unsheathed her own. “You’ll have to help me,” she said. “And I’ll help you.”

She leaned above him and slowly guided his hand until his knife was pointing at her heart, placing her own knife similarly against his. And then she leant down further, kissing his lips softly. 

“Together,” she said. 

He smiled weakly, reaching up with his free hand to run a hand through her hair. 

“Together,” he agreed.

* * *

Cecelia threw her mug at her screen, smashing it and sending coffee splashing everywhere. Kristoff winced, shying away from the mess. Having Cecelia at the neighbouring mentor’s station could be dangerous sometimes. 

“That One bitch!” she shouted. “Those wounds would have healed fine if Rapunzel had got them cleaned up! It wasn’t poison, it was bacteria. She could have lived to the end of the Games!”

“She shouldn’t have listened to Aurora, then,” Kristoff said quietly. Cecelia was a recent victor from Eight, having won the year after Elsa, and she was so angry, still. There was no one as furious as Cecelia when her tributes died. 

“See it like this,” he tried, as one hovercraft flew in to take both Flynn of District Nine and Cecelia’s girl Rapunzel, locked in a deathly embrace. “It was her choice to do it. In a way, I think she was happy now.”

“Happy and _dead_ ,” Cecelia spat. She stood up so violently that her chair fell over and stomped out of the mentor’s lounge, slamming the door behind her.

Kristoff sighed. He looked at the screen, where Aurora was coming back to consciousness. She stirred groggily, then shot upright, staring around herself. Hardly pausing to take in the scene, she yanked Rapunzel’s rope off and then got to her feet, running out of there. 

She was ruthless, and she was not above manipulation, Kristoff thought. And most of all, she was desperate now. Her attack on both Rapunzel and Flynn had been sloppy. She was hunting with a sort of frantic anger, and it was making her careless. 

But it was also making her dangerous.

* * *

Fresh snow had fallen during the night—the first since the start of the Games. The Gamemakers must be trying to force confrontations, Mulan thought. With the ground covered in pristine white again, every set of tracks showed up like a wound in the landscape. It made for almost too easy hunting. 

With Flynn and Rapunzel gone—and Mulan tried not to think about that, because it made her eyes sting—they were down to the top six. That meant that by this point, all the remaining tributes would be as good as Careers. Weak tributes wouldn’t have made it this far. 

She couldn’t hesitate now. 

Mulan had decided to return to their camping spot by the lake, making it her permanent base, and had spent the two days since Flynn’s and Rapunzel’s death securing the area by making traps. It was lonely. She’d become used to Rapunzel’s cheerful presence, and even Flynn’s sarcasm. Losing them had been a shock. They’d died together, she knew, but she didn’t know how or why. When she had arrived at their meeting point and found it empty, with a pool of blood staining the snow red and Rapunzel’s rope tossed some distance away, she’d only known the worst had happened. She hoped it had been quick. The almost simultaneous cannon shots made her think that might have been the case, and it eased the pain somewhat. 

Now, Mulan could only look forward. And that meant that she had to go out looking for other tributes. They would be hunting her. It was only fair that she hunted them in return. 

She been out on one of those hunting trips and was returning when she became aware that someone was close. She turned in time to see the red-haired girl from District Four raising a spear, and jumped away just far enough to avoid it. 

Mulan ducked behind a tree quickly, then ran towards her camp. She had three traps she could spring, coming from this direction. 

She ran in serpentine loops towards her goal, making sure to never present an easy target, and chopped off a rope as she ran past her first trap. A great branch swung down behind her, and she looked back to see the District Four girl throw herself to the ground and roll to avoid being hit. She seemed to be unharmed, so Mulan ran on. 

She reached the edge of the forest and was now out in the open. The frozen lake of her camp site provided no cover, but the snow on the ice made for decent foothold. It was as good a battle ground as any. 

She spun with a sudden movement and charged back towards the Four girl, unsheathing her sword as she ran. It obviously surprised the girl, and she had no time to throw the spear in her hand. Instead, she planted her feet and shifted to a jabbing stance, holding up her free arm in front of her face. She had tied the remains of a backpack around her lower arm, making a crude shield. Mulan took note. She needed to do something similar. 

They circled each other slowly. The Four girl was small and thin, not much bigger than Mulan despite her Career background. She’d looked fit during training week, though, her arms strong with swimmer’s muscles. She had a floaty sort of name, Mulan recalled—Ariel. 

She wondered why she had to remember that now. 

Ariel lunged at her. Mulan managed to avoid the thrust and attacked in turn, jabbing her sword at Ariel’s stomach but missing as the girl danced out of reach. She was quick, and gracefully fluid in her movements. 

They moved around each other again, feinting and attacking and defending. It was exhausting. Ariel was quick to notice any mistake, attacking as soon as Mulan showed the slightest hint of hesitation. The old wound under Mulan’s collarbone was aching again. She found herself retreating across the ice with Ariel pressing in, never giving her a moment’s rest. 

She was bending back to block another dangerous thrust from Ariel when she saw a mark she had made earlier and knew where she was. Stepping out of the path of Ariel’s blows, she moved slowly to her right, letting Ariel press her back, and then continued circling around in the same fashion until they had traded places. And then she moved in quickly, managing to give Ariel a hard kick in the stomach. 

It wasn’t a debilitating blow. But it did make Ariel step back several paces—right onto the float of ice Mulan had cut loose the day before. 

The ice bent and flipped, tipping Ariel into the icy water. For a moment, the ice float stood upright, balancing, and then the sheet of ice flipped over completely, covering Ariel as she sank down into the water. 

Mulan threw herself forward, holding the ice float in place. She could feel the movement of Ariel beneath, punching up against the ice, and tried to put it from her mind. She tried to think of District Six, and Shang, and her family—ignoring the increasingly desperate movements of the girl beneath the ice. 

The cannon finally fired, after what felt like an eternity, and Mulan scrambled away from the hole in the ice and threw up violently.

* * *

Aurora sat in a hollow underneath a pine tree, carving a pile of short branches into stakes. She’d lost several of her throwing knives by attacking the District Eight girl, and she would need all the long-distance weapons she could get for the final hurdle. 

Yesterday, Ariel had fallen. In a way, Aurora was glad. She wouldn’t have wanted to face Ariel in the end. Not because she was afraid of losing, precisely—it was just that Ariel was so passionate and emotional. It would be hard not to see the pain and betrayal in her face if the two of them had to do battle. 

Now, only four tributes remained. Tiana Rose from District Eleven wasn’t supposed to be a threat, but on the other hand, she had survived this long. She had to have some skill. In any case, she shouldn’t be underestimated. 

The boy Ping from District Six was the biggest threat—the one who had dealt Edward that treacherous blow. He was skilled with a sword and was quick on his feet. She’d do well to incapacitate him from a distance, or at least not enter into close combat without wounding him first. That was where the stakes came in—she’d made them short but thick, good for throwing. With a bit of practice, they’d serve as excellent replacements for her lost knives. 

The boy from District Five, the handsome but soppy one, she was less sure about. He’d stayed below the radar during training week, and she didn’t know where his skills lay. He’d managed a decent training score, though, and should probably not be taken lightly. 

And then, of course, there was the little Snow Princess, Anna Arendelle. Aurora didn’t know how she’d play it. Her sister had been a knife fighter in her Games; a furious, desperate whirlwind, she’d never shied away from close combat. She’d achieved much of her success by simply shocking the other tributes with attacks that came out of nowhere, like a snow storm in June. No one had expected that timid-looking girl to be such a dangerous combatant. And Anna Arendelle had cultivated a similarly sweet persona. 

But Aurora knew that gambit now. She wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

* * *

Anna shivered and hugged herself, looking out over the landscape below. It had been a week since she had left Hans, and in that time, she’d seen a crueller aspect of the Arena. She’d received no sponsor gifts since their parting, and four days ago, she'd been passing under a cliff when a great sheet of snow had fallen on top of her, knocking her out. She had come to suddenly and found herself inside a wall of snow, with no way of knowing what was up or down. For a while she had panicked, sure that this meant the end, but then she had recalled stories from lumber workers and had spat carefully, noting the way her saliva fell. With gravity as her guide, she had dug her way up and out, managing to make her way into the open air again. She’d been freezing and shivering, but the knowledge that she had survived what must have been a Gamemaker trap had made her feel strong and fearless. 

She’d managed to survive, even if she was now hungry all the time. She still knew how to forage for food, and although setting up snares and thus announcing your own presence was always a risk, it was a risk she’d had to take. Her hunting and gathering didn’t give her enough food to satisfy, but it gave her enough to go on. 

She’d taken to the trees again for her camps, and she felt safe enough in her usual security measures to sleep uninterrupted every night. That was an advantage, too. With so few tributes left, everyone had to be getting jumpy. Being well-rested each morning gave her an edge. 

Now, it was time to go check on her snares. Pulling at the hood of her jacket to make sure her bright pink hat was completely covered, she clambered down to the ground and set off. 

The worst of it, these days, was actually the loneliness. Since she had left Hans, she hadn’t seen another person. And that was a good thing, of course, but the empty silence of the Arena gnawed at her, boring into her skull and making her head buzz. She wished she could talk to someone. Here, the lack of sponsor gifts was even worse. It wasn’t so much about the gifts themselves—Anna could manage without them—but each parachute had been like having Kristoff or Elsa there, for just a moment. Without any sign of life either from the Capitol or from other tributes, Anna was almost starting to feel like she was the only person left in this empty world. Only the anthem at night confirmed that there were still Gamemakers out there, pressing their buttons and following her with their cameras. 

Anna rubbed her hands together as she walked, thankful for the gloves. After weeks in the Arena, they were dark enough with filth that the blue colour no longer stood out as much, and she was no longer afraid they would make her easier to spot. Without them, she knew she would have been much, much colder. It was typical of the Capitol’s cruelty, she thought, to give the tributes snow clothes but leave out the gloves. They must have relished in each pair of reddened hands digging through the snow for food. 

If she got out of this, she would go home and smash every Capitol telescreen she could get her hands on. 

She trudged around a small outcrop of rock towards one of her snares, lost in her thoughts. And then, she found herself face to face with the boy from District Six, Ping. 

For a few frozen seconds, they just stared at each other. Then the boy tensed and grabbed the pommel of his sword, and Anna turned and ran. 

She ran like she’d never run before, panicked, fighting for her life with every step. She could hear the boy behind her—he was fast, but not quite fast enough to catch her up. He wouldn’t have to, however. She couldn’t keep this pace up for ever. 

She reached into her pocket as she ran, her hands closing around the stones she kept there for throwing at birds and hares. The day before yesterday, she’d managed to bring down a pheasant with one. She twisted and threw one at Ping, but her panic and haste was making her clumsy and the stone went wide of its mark. She would need time to take aim if she wanted to hit him. 

She stumbled on, every breath a knife in her throat. She had no way of getting through this. She had one knife and a few stones. The boy was a trained sword fighter. She would never get through this. 

Desperately, she steered towards a cliff edge she knew was up ahead. Maybe, she could manage to hide somehow, or jump the cliff and hope that it didn’t end simply in broken legs. 

She was almost at the edge when a blow to her back made her cry out and fall. She didn’t feel any pain, so the backpack must have protected her from the blade, but now she was down and vulnerable. She rolled onto her back, raising her arms over her head. 

The boy stalked towards her. He didn’t look mean or murderous—in fact, he looked as though he was going to be sick. But he also looked as though he wouldn’t hesitate, even if he would hate it. 

Anna drew breath in a ragged sob. She tried to push herself backwards, delaying the inevitable. 

She felt something move under her back. She glanced to the side, and found that she was lying on top of a sapling tree, bent down towards the ground. It had been weighed down by the snow, but had been shaken loose when she landed on top of it. The only thing holding it down now was her own weight. 

The idea was there immediately. Making herself even smaller and more pathetic, she curled her body up, waiting until the boy was almost on top of her, readying his sword for the final strike. And then she rolled away quickly. 

The sapling tree sprang up, striking the boy hard in the face. As he reeled back, in shock or pain or a combination of both, Anna pushed herself forward and kicked him hard in the shin. With his balance already compromised, the blow made him stumble backwards. His last step brought him just to the cliff edge, and for a dizzying moment he stood, balancing. 

Then, with a trailing scream, he fell. 

Anna fell back, panting heavy breaths that stuck in her throat with the mingled horror and relief. The cannon fired, and she put both her hands over her face, sobbing into her gloves. She didn’t know what to feel. Her body felt strange, her skin too tight and her limbs not working right—she felt at the same time on fire with the knowledge of being alive, and heavy with the horror of what had just happened. 

She wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. 

“Anna!”

She scrambled upright, holding her knife aloft. With the way her blood was humming, she felt that she could just attack without hesitation. She was alive. She was going to stay alive. 

It took her a moment to realise who had called out to her, and then she recognised Hans. He was walking towards her with his hands held up, empty of weapons, looking wary. She realised how insane she must look—shaking, her face grimy with tears and snot, a knife held tightly in one wavering hand. 

The relief of seeing him bubbled up, then, and she dropped her knife. She knew it was probably stupid, but he was there and he wasn’t trying to kill her. 

“Hans,” she sobbed, and he ran the last few steps toward her and folded her into his arms. “Hans, it was so horrible. I’m so afraid.”

“You made it,” he mumbled. “You’re here. And I’m here. We’ll do this together.”

She shook her head, even as she squeezed him tighter. “We can’t. I don’t want it to be you and me in the end.”

He put his mouth close to her ear. 

“It’s all right,” he whispered, so softly that she had to strain to hear him. “I know a way we can get out of this.”

That made her step back and look up at him, confused. “How?”

“Not here,” he said, shaking his head and glancing around, reminding her of the cameras that were always watching. “Trust me.”

She nodded. Hans knew much about how the Games worked. He might just have found a flaw in the system. 

He looked up, and she followed his gaze. A parachute was sailing towards them, holding a hamper. For a moment, Anna was sickened at the unapologetic way the sponsors showed they just wanted to see blood, but then her hunger overcame her disgust. She snatched the hamper from the air, her stomach growling at the smells of bread and oranges that came wafting from it. She saw Hans’s hungry expression, and then he laughed sheepishly. 

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s been rough since you left. I’m not as good at finding food as you.”

She smiled at him. “Let’s find somewhere safe to eat this, then.”

* * *

“No, what is she doing?” Elsa gasped, starting out of her chair. “She can’t go with him! She has to stay away from all the other tributes!”

Kristoff was frowning at the screen, not saying anything. Elsa knew that he hadn’t wanted to send that hamper, not wanting to give any reason for Hans and Anna to stay together longer than necessary, but it had been a direct, extravagant gift from one of Anna’s most faithful sponsors. Elsa knew as well as he did that sometimes you had no control over what to send to your tributes. 

He reached one hand out to her, and she gripped it tight enough to make him wince. 

“She’s not stupid, Elsa,” he said. “She has to have a plan. We just have to trust in her.”

“If she’d just stayed away, she could have waited out the other deaths,” Elsa mumbled. Anna had showed that she was both resourceful and strong, but Elsa knew that if it came down to her and the boy she was following now, she would lose. He was large and strong, and he had a sword. There were some fights you couldn’t win. 

Kristoff shook his head. “You know it would never work like that,” he said. 

She did know it. The last scene of the Games had to be a showdown. It was far too anticlimactic to have the other tributes battle each other to the death, only to have another win by default. Anna would never have been allowed to win simply by hiding. Anna had to know that, too. Like Kristoff said, she had to have a plan. 

Elsa just hoped it was a good one.

* * *

The Cornucopia was really very warm. Tiana congratulated herself on her decision to make her camp there. Somehow, it seemed to insulate against the weather. Or perhaps it was simply getting milder in the Arena at large. She seemed to be much warmer today than yesterday. 

Her supplies were still OK. She had biscuits and hard bread and even some carrots, and there was a small but significant store of dried meat as well. She could be good for days and days yet. 

When she got out of here, she’d talk to her mentors about that restaurant idea. Victors were supposed to have a talent. She could make hers her cooking. She could have one restaurant in the Capitol, all fancy food and experimental cooking and using the most outrageous decorations, and then she could have one at home. One that charged nothing for its meals, but had a pot of gumbo stewing at all hours for weary workers. She could get some of the kids off the streets, offer them jobs as dish washers or runners or even cooks. 

Tiana shivered for a moment as a gust of wind blew into the Cornucopia, then laughed. Despite the wind, she really was very warm. She took her coat off, shaking it out. It felt wonderful to finally be out of the stinking thing. Her boots were next, and she laughed again at how horrible they smelled. She flexed her toes, enjoying the freedom of her feet at last. 

Her father should have been alive to see her, she thought. She might just make it out of the Games without ever having to kill someone. There were only three other tributes left, if she’d kept count right, and they had to be hunting each other now. No one would think to come looking for her here.

She rubbed her hands over her arms. Her skin felt tingly and hot. She almost wanted to rub some snow over it. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, she thought, but at least she could go out and enjoy the fresh air. 

Stepping lightly outside of the Cornucopia’s mouth, she smiled as the snow soaking into her socks cooled her burning feet. She walked further out, raising her arms and turning slowly around and around. The glittering landscape was so beautiful. 

She wondered if she could make a snow angel.

* * *

Now, there was only the Career Aurora left. Anna found herself jumping at the slightest sound, expecting every moment to find the girl leaping out at her from the shadows. 

“Don’t worry,” Hans told her. “We have four eyes against her two. We have the advantage.”

She grinned at that, because it was so much Hans to find the positive way of looking at things. 

They were trekking up into the higher part of the Arena. After the Eleven girl’s death two days ago, the weather had turned noticeably warmer, and when the melting snow had started falling off trees in great chunks, Anna had realised the Gamemakers’ intent. They would be triggering avalanches soon, and she knew that finding oneself in the dale at that point would be a bad idea. The only solution was to find as high ground as possible. 

Aurora would know that, too. It would come to a confrontation on the mountain, probably. 

By noon, they’d made it up onto a high plateau. They paused, then, eating a little and resting their tired feet. Anna got up after a while and walked around a shoulder of rock for some privacy, crouching in the snow with her knife clutched tightly in her hand, straining her ears for any unusual sounds. She was not going to die while peeing. That would be too stupid to bear. 

As she was heading back, a small parachute sailed towards her. She frowned, wondering why it was arriving now, when she was alone. Kristoff had to know that she would be sharing all the food with Hans. 

When she opened the container, however, she found no food. Instead, there was a small dagger, in a leather sheath with a strap and buckle. She recognised it as one that should be strapped to her leg, under her clothes. Since she had the boots, however, she chose to strap it to her right arm, easily reachable. 

Kristoff must know something. The girl must be close now. 

She returned to Hans, but didn’t tell him about the dagger. She wasn’t sure why. In a way, she liked having a secret weapon—it made her feel strong, and independent. 

After their meal, they set off again, clambering up slopes and climbing with the help of her rope when they reached steeper parts. An hour or two later, they found themselves up on a high, flat mountain top, with no obvious way of moving forward. There were some outcrops of rock jutting up here and there, but no further mountain to climb. One side of the mountain, the one they’d come by, was sloping rather gently down, but the other side was sheer and dangerous. The weather was damp, and below them, mists rolled and covered the view down. 

“Maybe this is it, then,” Hans said. “Maybe this is where we’re supposed to end up.”

“So now, do we just wait?” Anna asked, grinning. “This is so strange.”

“Maybe she won’t come. Maybe she was trapped in the dale and is lying in an avalanche somewhere right now.”

“So then we wait even longer? Until we hear the cannon a few days from now?” Anna made a face. “That’s gruesome.”

“I don’t know if we can do anything but wait,” Hans said. “It’s hard to hunt from here.”

“We could at least prepare,” she suggested. “Lay some traps for her. She’ll probably come the same way we did.” She took out her rope. “I say let’s make some trip wires, and then we can settle down to wait.”

He nodded, and together they started stretching the rope out in zigzag between some rocks, covering it with snow to hide the trap. If Aurora came this way, hopefully she’d stumble over the rope long enough for them to notice her and be able to prepare themselves. 

Anna was just laying a last rock in place when something made her turn, and she twisted away just in time to avoid the stake that came whistling towards her. Aurora came out from behind one of the outcrops, drawing a knife from her belt as she ran towards Anna. She must have climbed up the other side of the mountain to get up to them—there was no way they could have missed her coming up the less steep path. 

“Hans!” Anna managed, before Aurora was upon her. Anna already had her own knife in her hand, and she flailed wildly with it, trying to keep the girl at a distance. Aurora bent back, out of reach, and then slammed her elbow into Anna’s wrist, making the knife fly out of her hand. Anna stumbled backwards, raising her hands, and Aurora’s knife slashed against her right palm. Anna screamed. 

Then Hans was there, swinging his sword at Aurora. She stepped back, managing to block him, but was then forced to retreat. Hans pressed her back, slashing and jabbing, and she ran backwards from him, pulling out a new knife to work double-handed. Every now and again, she tried to get within his reach, but she was blocked every time. Through her tears, Anna watched them. She’d never seen Hans fight before, but now she saw for the first time that he was very good. 

Somehow, it was frightening to see him like this. 

He pressed Aurora back across the plateau, never giving her an inch. And then, just as Aurora seemed to be tiring, Anna saw him let his guard down. Before she had time to shout a warning, Aurora darted in close. But Hans had been ready for that. Dropping his sword, he raised both hands and gave Aurora a great shove. He was strong. The push made Aurora fly backwards, landing on her back and sliding several feet. She slid right to the steep edge of the cliff, and then over it. She didn’t even have time to scream before she toppled into the abyss. 

There was no cannon. Anna thought of the girl lying broken at the foot of the mountain, dying slowly, and felt like throwing up. 

She ran towards Hans, cradling her wounded hand to her chest. He had picked up a knife that Aurora had let fall and was looking at it intently. 

“Are you all right?” Anna asked breathlessly. He nodded, still looking at the knife. 

“Did you lose your knife?” he asked her. 

“She made me drop it,” Anna said, twisting her head to nod back towards where Aurora had attacked her. She winced, holding her right hand gingerly in her left. “So… what now?”

He looked up at her and smiled. And then, without warning, he stepped up to her and drove the knife into her stomach.

* * *

In the mentor’s lounge, Elsa screamed.


	7. Chapter Seven

The pain was worse than anything Anna had ever felt. She folded up and fell to her knees, pressing her hands to the wound. 

She looked up at Hans, uncomprehending. “You said you knew a way we could get out of this!” she managed. 

He leant his head to one side. “Did I?” He shrugged, then smiled at her. “I believe that was the royal _we_. You see, there was only ever going to be one victor of these Games. I can’t believe you forgot that.”

“You _said_ —” Anna tried, then paused, gasping for breath. 

“I said, I said.” Hans rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hold me to things I said in the Arena now? We all play these Games to win. Some of us are better players.”

He got down on one knee in front of her, rolling the knife in his hand. He was still smiling at her. “You were a wonderful ally, though, Anna. I’m going to remember all that sponsor food fondly.”

She glared up at him. “Elsa is going to _kill_ you.”

He laughed. “Yes, I heard that rumour. But you know, I think I’ll risk it.”

He raised the knife. Quickly, although it hurt even to move, Anna grabbed the little dagger hidden under her right sleeve and slashed upwards. He moved back, but not in time, and the dagger cut across his cheek. He grunted with pain, surging onto his feet and stepping away from her. 

“You are full of surprises,” he said, sneering at her. She stared back steadily. She may not have much chance here, but she was not going out without a fight. 

Then, her eyes widened as she saw what was happening behind him. He saw her expression change and turned, but too late. 

Aurora heaved herself back over the edge of the cliff and exploded forwards, with one hand knocking the knife out of his hand and punching him hard with the other. His head snapped back, but he was quick to grasp her hands in his and push back against her. They stood at the edge of the cliff, grappling with each other. He had both her hands locked, but she was kicking him in the side, her leg moving gracefully and quickly. She was absolutely furious. 

For a while, it looked to Anna as though Aurora might gain the upper hand. But then Hans pulled her close, crashing their foreheads together, and she went limp. Hans took advantage of her dazed state to get both hands around her throat, squeezing tight. She choked and raised her hands, scrabbling at his face, but he only squeezed harder. 

Anna was filled with a sudden rage. He couldn’t get away with this. Aurora had fought him so hard, and she didn’t deserve to go out like that. 

Everything hurt, but Anna managed to straighten up. Still keeping her right hand pressed close against her stomach wound, she took a stone out of her pocket. She took aim and breathed in slowly, and then she threw it, with all the strength she could muster. 

The stone hit Hans hard in the temple. His balance thrown off, he relaxed his grip on Aurora and took a step to right himself. Then, the ground gave way under his foot. But Aurora hadn’t been able to get away quickly enough; as Hans fell, he clutched at her desperately, dragging her down with him. 

This time, there were cannons. Anna heard them boom, one after the other, just before she fell face forward and everything faded into darkness.

* * *

Anna woke, blinking her eyes open slowly. The room she was in was white, and she was lying back on clean-smelling linen. 

She drew in a shaky breath, and heard someone gasp. She turned her head. 

Elsa was scrambling towards her, tripping over her own feet in her haste to get to her side as quickly as possible. She stopped right before the bed, her hands hovering anxiously over Anna’s. Anna smiled weakly, reaching up one hand, and Elsa gripped it, clutching it to her cheek and sinking down onto her knees. 

“Anna,” she said, between sobs. “Anna, you’re safe. You’re here with me.”

Anna swallowed, trying to work some moisture into her mouth. “How long have I been out?” she asked. 

“Five days,” Elsa whispered, still clutching her hand tight enough to hurt. “They’ve healed you, but you need time yet. You need your strength back. You were unconscious by the time they announced you as victor, and you were in surgery for hours after they got you out of there.”

Everything came back, the memories slamming into Anna with their full horror. 

“Hans,” she said, her voice strangled. “He—he stabbed—”

“He died in the fall,” Elsa said. “Oh, Anna.”

“I can’t believe I trusted him,” Anna said. The tears came, then—not only for Hans and his betrayal, but for all the terrible things she’d seen. “I’ll never trust anyone again. Never.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, putting one hand over her mouth to silence her sobs, and then she felt Elsa’s arms encircling her carefully. 

“I know,” she whispered into Anna’s ear. “I know you feel that way. But you will. Things will get better. Everything is going to be fine, now that you’re back with me.”

* * *

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Gobber Belch said. Kristoff looked at him, hoping he’d elaborate. Gobber had dragged him out for a beer, obviously with something on his mind, but hadn’t yet managed to spit out what it was. 

“What?” Kristoff pressed eventually, when nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. 

Gobber looked around, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “Your girl. It’s going to be dangerous. You must realise Snow had her Reaped to punish her sister.”

Kristoff went cold. He stared at Gobber, feeling all the fear come back to him. He’d allowed himself to think it was over. 

“She won’t be able to play the same Snow Queen card as her sister,” Gobber muttered, now looking very interested in his beer. “President Snow will have to see her broken. They can’t both beat the Games.”

“But she did win,” Kristoff said stupidly. Gobber gave him a look. 

“You know as well as I that it’s not about that. Elsa managed to play it cool. Her sister can’t do the same—that’ll mean there’s a family of people who can’t be hurt by these Games. President Snow can’t have that. He needs to see that his punishment worked. The lass can’t come out of this untouched.”

“Anna,” Kristoff said. 

“Oh aye. Guess I’d better learn her name now that she’s joining our illustrious victors’ ranks.” Gobber belched loudly. 

“I know you can’t see it like this right now,” he added after a while, leaning closer again, “but you should be grateful to that boy of hers. The treacherous little swine who got exactly what he deserved, is who I mean. He just might have broken her heart enough for this to work.”

Kristoff stared at him, shocked. Gobber grinned back at him. 

“You’re still young,” he said. “Me, I’ve been around for thirty years. I know how these games are played.”

Kristoff took a sip of his beer, mulling Gobber’s words over. They were uncomfortable in their bleak pragmatism, but he knew that Gobber had a point. Anna needed to be shown to be horror-stricken and heartbroken during her final interviews. The healing could start later. 

Gobber raised his hand, waving at someone. Kristoff looked up. Astrid Hoffersen was entering with a man Kristoff had seen her with quite often over the last week. He wore Capitol clothes, but his one peg leg showed him clearly to be of District origin. A Capitol citizen would never live down such an unattractive appendage, Kristoff thought sardonically. 

The man was small, a little shorter than Astrid, with longish, shaggy hair, here and there braided in classical District Ten fashion. That was all Kristoff had been able to notice, since he’d never seen the man in daylight. He and Astrid seemed to prefer meeting up at night or dusk, and never close to the Training Center. 

Kristoff felt happy for Astrid’s sake. The first year as mentor was difficult for everyone, and she’d had a particularly rough time. Her tribute had died early in the bloodbath, and that was always a shock to experience. Kristoff was glad that she seemed to have found someone whose company she enjoyed. He wondered vaguely how they’d met. 

He downed the last of his beer and gave Gobber a pat on the shoulder. 

“I’ll leave space for Astrid and her friend,” he said. “I need to get back to Anna anyway.”

Gobber waved a hand vaguely. “Tell Elsa I said hi,” he said. “And not to worry. Things will work out—but remember what I told you.”

Kristoff nodded, then waved a greeting at Astrid and left. As he walked past them, he looked closer at her friend and wondered if he hadn’t seen that face somewhere before. At one of the victory parties he’d been forced to attend during the past week, perhaps. 

He sighed to himself. The sponsors were already working themselves into a frenzy over Anna's win. He could only imagine what they would be like at the victor's ceremony.

* * *

Caesar Flickerman welcomed Anna onto the stage with open arms, giving her a smile that seemed to contain too many teeth. He took both her hands in his and squeezed them tightly, then turned her to wave out at the screaming audience. She waved with some hesitation, blinking at the bright lights. She would have preferred to stay in her bed for weeks yet—she’d only been released from hospital earlier in the day. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Caesar exclaimed, “I present to you the victor of the 61st annual Hunger Games: Anna Arendelle!”

The applause and cheers were deafening. At first, Anna tried to hide her wince, but then called to mind what Kristoff had told her just before she walked on stage and let her pain show. 

_“Let them see that they hurt you. You don’t need to charm them any longer. Show them what you feel.”_

She sat down in the chair Caesar indicated for her, trying to fold away the huge skirt of her dress as best as she could. Her stylist had flirted with the same snow theme as Elsa had received as victor, but had thrown in spring flowers and the green of fresh grass. The overall result was that Anna appeared to be clad in a forest glade just waking from winter, with flowers and grass peeking up through the snow. It was a very deliberate choice, she knew. 

She wished she could have had more time with Kristoff to prepare for this. As it was, she was simply trusting that she was reading the signs right. His admonition about showing her feelings and the innocence of her dress seemed to be telling her to be vulnerable. It was the same ploy they had used before the Games had started; now, however, it was much easier to manage the part. 

“So, Anna,” Caesar said, moving closer to her and taking her hand again, “tell us about the Games. I must say, we were all _shocked_ when your ally Hans turned on you at the end. Weren’t you shocked?” He turned to the audience, who _awwed_ and hissed sympathetically, and then back to Anna. “Tell us, what went through your head at that time?”

Anna couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth and tried to get the words out, but her throat was too tight to manage a sound. Finally she closed her mouth again and waved a hand vaguely, swallowing back her tears. Caesar, to give him his due, tactfully changed the subject. 

“Your sister must be so proud,” he gushed. “Elsa Arendelle, let’s shine a light on you for a moment! Aren’t you proud of your sister?”

The spotlight found Elsa in the audience. She waved gracefully and tilted her head ever so slightly forwards and to the side. Snow Queen all the way, never giving an inch, Anna thought. There was no way to know if that was actually a _yes_ or just a very subtle _no_. Caesar would never get answers that easily from Elsa. 

“OK, so to return to the Games,” Caesar said. “There are so many things we could linger on, but I must say that I found your adventures when you were on your own _very_ fascinating. You were in an avalanche! And you managed to get out of it so cleverly, I thought. Tell us about it!”

Anna drew a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “It wasn't really an avalanche,” she said. “If it had been, I wouldn't have been able to dig my way out on my own. But I’ve heard stories before about being caught in snow and not knowing which way is up.” 

She told Caesar about watching which way the spit fell and taking direction from that, and he made appreciatively disgusted noises. 

“So many skills I never even knew you would need!” he exclaimed, to laughter from the audience. Anna tried to smile at him, but found her smile breaking up before long. She was so tired. If she’d only had more rest. 

Caesar bantered a bit more, but when her replies became shorter and shorter he finally relented and gave the sign to start the victory show. 

The footage washed over Anna like a bad dream come to life. Before long, she could feel the tears running down her face, but she made no attempt to stop them. They would be filming her, she knew, broadcasting her reactions at different points, but she couldn’t feel anything but a bone deep tiredness and a wish for all of this to just be over. She didn’t have the will to control her expression any longer. 

She could understand, now, her sister’s and Kristoff’s need for solitude after a stay in the Capitol. Everything was too bright and saturated here, every moment milked for emotion and drama. Anna felt frozen, unable to process anything. 

Finally, after what felt like hours and probably was, actually—attendants had arrived with food for Caesar to nibble at several times—the show reached the part where she, Hans and Aurora played out the final battle on the mountain top. Anna managed to get through the first part, but when the camera zoomed in on her expression as Hans stabbed her, she had to turn her face away. She could feel the knife all over again, and she pressed a hand to her stomach instinctively. It was with an effort she managed to stand up after that to greet the president. 

President Snow walked onto the stage slowly, holding a victor’s crown in his hands—an obvious variant on the crown Elsa had received four years ago. Elsa had stared coolly into the president’s eyes as he put it on her head, standing straight and proud and beautiful. Anna could even remember what he had said to her. 

_“My name is Snow, but I feel I may no longer deserve to bear it. I have to bow to the true queen of snow.”_

Elsa had accepted her moniker gracefully, and from that moment on, she'd been Snow Queen to all the Capitol. Now, Anna wondered about that comment from the president. It was getting easier to think like this—to see the strategies behind every choice. She thought that she could see what he'd been thinking. Elsa had been so removed from the Games. By naming her and even connecting her to his own name, President Snow had done what he could to pull her back into line. 

He couldn't have known how Elsa would turn that name against the Games, making her image a shield. 

Anna couldn’t do that. She was too tired and hurt. She shrank away from the president as he raised his hands, and then managed to get herself under control long enough for him to crown her. 

“Well done, Miss Arendelle,” he said, taking her hand. She tried to smile at him, but thought that it probably didn’t come out quite right. 

President Snow gave her hand an extra squeeze before turning to the audience. As he did so, she thought she saw him smile. 

Somehow, she managed to get through the last of the victor’s ceremony. President Snow spoke about inspiration and courage and whatnot, and then Caesar babbled on for a bit more, and then, finally, she was allowed to head backstage. 

She hardly had time to see Kristoff running towards her before she fainted into his arms.

* * *

“I think we managed it,” Kristoff said. Elsa nodded. 

“But it’s wrong,” she said softly, looking at Anna’s sleeping face. “This way, she becomes the weak one, when—when in reality, it’s the other way around.”

“That’s the way it has to be,” Kristoff said. “Since you are strong, she can’t be, too. It’ll get better as the years pass, though. Other victors will come and take the focus away from you. But for the time being, she has to be the brittle little sister.”

Elsa frowned unhappily, taking Anna's hand in hers. 

The doctors had healed all of Anna's wounds. She’d been scratched and torn up when she arrived, but now, her face and arms were smooth and whole again. They hadn’t managed to erase every little mark, however. There was a very faint line across one palm, where Aurora’s knife had sliced her skin open, and at the top of her head, some of her hair was growing in white. Elsa wondered if that was the cold, or maybe fright. 

Still, even in sleep, Anna looked strong. She would get through this. 

Elsa sighed. “She was never the brittle one.”

“Elsa, you are aware that there are different kinds of strength, right?” Kristoff said, and she had to smile at that.

* * *

When Anna woke, she found herself lying on a sofa in the District Seven apartment. She was still wearing the huge interview dress, but someone had at least removed her pinching, painful shoes. She sat up gingerly. 

Elsa was sitting on the floor, asleep, her head resting atop her arms next to Anna on the sofa. Her face was calm and still. No nightmares, then, Anna thought, reaching out to run a hand over Elsa's hair. 

Kristoff entered the room, holding a steaming mug. “Oh,” he said, stopping suddenly. “You're awake.”

“More or less,” she said, rubbing one hand over her face. Her hair must be a fright, she thought. 

He shifted his weight, awkward, then held up his mug. “Coffee?”

Anna hesitated. “Maybe chocolate?” she asked, trying to rise from the sofa without waking Elsa. He waved a hand. 

“No, no, stay. I'll bring it.”

Coffee was a luxurious habit Elsa had picked up after her victory. Anna had never managed to enjoy the bitter taste, however, something that now seemed like a good idea. It wouldn't have been fun to add the headaches Elsa sometimes got from lack of her coffee to all the other perils of the Arena. 

Kristoff arrived back after a minute or two and handed her a mug, then sat down in a chair across from her with his own coffee. Anna took a sip of her hot chocolate, closing her eyes as the liquid warmed her slowly from the inside. She felt revived and calm, with yesterday's horrid interview now more of a fading memory. 

“So,” she said, raising her eyebrows at Kristoff, “did something happen to my bed while I was in the Arena?”

He smiled quickly. “They wouldn't let Elsa into your room, and she refused to leave you. In the end, we decided to just let you sleep here. I'm sorry. I hope it wasn't uncomfortable.”

She laughed at that. “I haven't slept that well in weeks,” she said. “And after all those trees, I think I would even be comfortable sleeping straight on the floor.”

His expression darkened at that. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “I'm so sorry about what happened to you, Anna. About Hans—”

She jerked, almost spilling her chocolate, and he fell silent, looking away. She held her mug up to her face and breathed slowly, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart. 

After the first shock had passed, however, she felt that she could think about Hans and his betrayal without the mind-numbing panic that had always accompanied it before. Maybe it was having a good night's sleep, away from the hospital smell. Maybe it was having Elsa right there next to her, and Kristoff like a solid, calming presence in the room. 

Maybe it was the chocolate. 

“It was my choice to trust him,” she said finally, then shrugged and even managed a grin. “Stupid choice.”

Kristoff scowled darkly. “He had everyone fooled,” he said, his fingers tightening around his mug. 

“Not you,” Anna said. 

“Me, too.”

“Not completely,” she insisted. “I know you sent me that dagger to warn me, at the end. I didn't realise it at the time. But I know it now.” She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

He smiled back, looking straight at her. For the first time, she thought about how handsome he was. 

She'd always thought of Kristoff as part of Elsa's world. Now, however, she was part of that world, too—and somehow, that changed things. 

She dove back into her mug of chocolate, confused. 

“You've mentored two Arendelle sisters to victory now,” she said after a while, flippant, trying to distract herself. “They'll be calling you the Victor Maker soon.”

He grimaced, and she laughed. 

“I could do without earning a moniker,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Flying under the radar has always worked out for me.”

Elsa stirred then, her fingers reaching out as she woke, and Anna took her hand. Elsa looked up at her vaguely, her eyes barely open. Neither of them had ever been morning people. 

“How are you feeling?” Elsa asked, her voice raspy with sleep. 

“Ready to go home,” Anna said, smiling at her. 

Elsa sat up straighter, her expression turning from the peaceful one of sleep into the worried, frowning face Anna knew as her Capitol angst. 

“Not quite yet,” she said. “There are a few more interviews, and we'll have to go to some parties.”

Anna nodded, feeling her sister's worry bleed over to her. She'd been happy, almost, sitting in this soft morning light and talking to Kristoff. Now, she realised that the circus wasn't quite over yet. She should have remembered—Elsa had been forced to parade from one victory party to the next after her own coronation. There would be more ridiculous clothes and horrible shoes, and more Capitol people fawning and squealing and touching, always touching. Capitol people had no concept of personal space. They would want her to talk and explain and relive all the most painful moments of her life. Anna felt her heartbeat speeding up again. 

“We'll go home soon,” Kristoff said, and his voice together with Elsa's steady hand did something to calm her down. “You just have to hold out for a little while longer, Anna.”

* * *

In the end, it wasn't as bad as she had feared. There were interviews and parties, yes, but Elsa and Kristoff were always there, right by her side or just out of the camera's sights, and they helped her get through it. Elsa's intimidating Snow Queen presence kept the worst of the intrusive admirers away, and Kristoff was always there to make them laugh, once the cameras had turned off. Anna found herself laughing more and more, and when they were away from other people, so did Elsa and Kristoff. 

As they talked about Anna's Games, trying to sort out the feelings and the fear, and about strategies and plans for the different interviews, Elsa eventually started sharing some of the stories from her own victory year. So Anna learned that Elsa's gorgeous interview dress had been more or less a creation of her own. Her stylist had given her a long dress with a large sheath of organza wrapped around her throat as a fluffy collar, and Elsa had cut it apart into the slitted, off-the-shoulder dress that had become such an iconic image of her Games, transforming the collar into a cape. It had been a provocative and stunning look and, Anna knew now, a far cry from what the stylist had intended. 

“We realised that they wanted to turn me into something safe and demure,” Elsa told her. “But I didn't want to be that person. I wanted them to be afraid of me.”

That had certainly worked, Anna thought. And that danger that surrounded Elsa was still protecting her. Anna was able to lean on that, deflecting back onto Elsa's big sister persona whenever she found herself pressed in interviews. 

Still, although they were now sharing more than they had ever done before, there were times when Elsa would shut down again, no longer able to talk about things that made her relive her own Games. So sometimes, when Anna woke from a dream of blood and knives and terror, she would seek out Kristoff instead. She would talk to him, pouring out all of her fears, and he would listen quietly. After the second or third time, he began to tell her stories in return—choices made and dangers lived through, and she would listen in her turn. And they talked about other things, too; about his reindeer Sven and her dancing and his sculptures (he had taught Elsa woodcarving as a way to keep her hands busy after her victory, and grumbled in a good-natured way about how she had become ten times better than him in half a year). Anna felt like she was getting to know him more in a few short days than she had over the past four years. 

Sometimes when Kristoff looked at her, though, she found herself torn between laughter and something that was more anxious. There was something about him that made her uncertain, not knowing where to put her hands or what expression to make, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant, even so. It made her want more than ever to be away from the Capitol, where every feeling was too gaudy and false, never allowed to be simply what it was, and where she feared this fragile thing would be made cheap and tawdry. 

It made her long for District Seven's forests—where thoughts and emotions could swell up to fill the sky, without ever tangling in telescreen cables or flag lines or ribbons.

* * *

By the time the celebrations abated and they were allowed to return home, Anna felt much better. The memories were still there underneath, but the worst horror had faded away. In the end, what remained when the sorrow and fear had lessened was only the rage. 

One day, the Capitol would pay for doing this to them. They would pay for Elsa’s nightmares and Kristoff’s distrust, and for the way Anna herself flinched any time she heard the name Hans. She would make the Gamemakers and sponsors and President Snow regret what they had done. She was a victor now. That meant she had influence. 

She just had to figure out how to use it. 

As they finally boarded the train that would take them back home, Elsa was still icy cool and controlled, but the minute the doors closed behind them, she threw her arms around Anna’s neck and held on tight, refusing to let go. 

“OK, sis,” Anna said, patting her on the back. “A little warning next time? Wow, OK, hugs. Nice.”

“I never want you to go back to that place again,” Elsa mumbled in her ear. 

Anna tried to shrug, but since Elsa was still hugging her, it wasn’t as if it made any difference. “Well, I’ll have to,” she said. “Being a victor now and everything.”

Elsa gave a muffled half-sob, half-laugh against her neck, and Anna patted her back again. “It’s fine! I’ll have you there with me.”

She looked over Elsa’s shoulder at Kristoff, who was smiling at them—but glanced away when he caught her looking, awkward again in the way he hadn't been so often lately. She smiled. 

“Both of you,” she added. 

She wanted time to think about Kristoff, but that was for later. For now, she was simply happy to be back with the people she loved. 

She had survived, and she was going home.

\------------

**EPILOGUE**

\------------

_The 61st Hunger Games, Day One_

Astrid gasped, shrinking back from the screen and clenching the arms of her chair so hard that her knuckles turned white. Gobber sighed, closing his eyes against the sight of the carnage. The bloodbath had taken only a few minutes, and neither Alice nor Hiccup had survived it. 

Gobber had never held out much hope that they would. He never really had, these days. It was much easier not to believe. Last year, Astrid had shocked him as much as the Capitol when she won. 

In a way, too, he was glad it was over quickly. It was Astrid’s first year as mentor, and it would have been crueller for her to see her tribute slowly broken by the Arena. At least in this way she wouldn’t have to see him suffer. 

Still, it was difficult for her right now. She’d seemed to like the boy. 

“I’ll take care of the bodies,” he said. “I’ve done it plenty of times before. You just take it easy, OK?”

She nodded absentmindedly, still staring at the screen, where the Career tributes were now gathering. And as Gobber left the mentor’s lounge, the cannons for the bloodbath victims started booming. 

He made his way down to the morgue, where the dead tributes would be taken to be cleaned up before they were sent home to be buried in their own district. He stood there, waiting, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot and trying not to think of all the tributes that had passed through his hands down here. After a while, other mentors started to join him: Cecelia, Alida, Beetee, Weld and, unusually, two Career mentors in Mags and Lyme. Haymitch from District Twelve arrived last, looking almost happy and more hopeful than Gobber had seen him in years. His boy had fallen to the same Career who’d got Hiccup, but his girl Merida had shocked everyone by not only surviving, but taking down two Careers as well. The last time one of Haymitch’s tributes had even made it past the bloodbath had been six years ago. 

One by one, the mentors were called into separate rooms to deal with their tributes, and Gobber entered his to find Alice and Hiccup laid out side by side. He sighed deeply. Still, he supposed it was a mercy, really. 

As he looked closer at Hiccup, he noticed that the boy’s token, a necklace with a dragon pendant carved from a bull’s horn, was tied tightly around his left arm, a little above the bump in the skin that marked his tracker’s location. For a moment, Gobber just stared, and then with a quick intake of breath he bent forward. It took him a moment to make sure, but then he had to fight to keep the grin off his face. Darn it, he’d known the lad was clever. 

He was determined in a way Gobber hadn’t anticipated, too. Cutting off the blood flow to his tracker was the kind of thing Hiccup would come up with, but having the presence of mind to do it while he was going into shock from his wounds was a whole other matter. 

Gobber looked up at the two Capitol attendants, standing ready to help clean the bodies, and shook his head. 

“Oh, dear,” he said. “You are in trouble. This boy’s not dead.”

Their consternation was highly amusing to watch. Both of them clapped their hands over their mouth, and one stepped forward a pace and then quickly moved back again, looking frightened. 

“Are you sure?” she asked. Gobber gave her a tired look. 

“He’s breathing, for one thing. That was a hint.”

“What are we going to do?” the other attendant wailed, running his hands through his elegantly coiffed hair and messing it up completely. 

“Well,” Gobber said, “you’ve announced his death already. You can’t send him back into the Arena now.” He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. “We’ll just have to help him along to the death you’ve already reported.”

Both of the assistants shrank back even further, looking horrified. 

“ _Kill_ him?” the woman whispered, raising her hands as if to ward off the idea. Gobber looked from her to the other assistant, who looked ready to throw up, and hid a smile. For people who made their living by cleaning up murdered children, they were sure squeamish. But then, he’d kind of counted on that.

“You know what?” he said, making his voice calm and soothing. “You have a problem. I can solve it for you. How about you leave for an hour or so, and I’ll handle things here. When you come back, I’ll have two coffins ready to be shipped to District Ten.”

They both nodded gratefully and all but ran from the room. Gobber waited until the door had closed, then quickly grabbed a scalpel and dug the tracker out of Hiccup’s arm, depositing it in the coffin lying ready for use. He untied the necklace, letting blood back into Hiccup’s arm. And then, before he did anything else—before he even did something about the stomach wound or about the arrow in Hiccup’s leg—he picked up the phone hanging on the wall and dialled a number. 

He’d been forced to be part of this Capitol circus for over thirty years, but he had accumulated a lot of favours over that time. 

It was time to start calling some of them in.


End file.
